“I need a room.” I reach into my purse and pull out my wallet.
“Sure thing. IS there a room in particular you had a mind? We have a wonderful selection…” He motions to a placard that has a list of the rooms and rates.
“That one.” I point at the cheapest and hand him my debit card along with my driver’s license.
The transaction is simple. He tries to upsell me their loyalty program and tell me about the amenities. I ignore him until he hands me my stuff back along with my room key. I feel like I’m walking through a fog as I make my way to the elevator and up to room 402. It’s a room filled with the bare-minimums, but even the cheapest room has a mini-bar so that people can spend their money on overpriced little bottles.
I’m certainly in the mood to part with what little money I have in exchange for sedation and a blank slate.
It may be the only way that I ever get to lay my head on a pillow and sleep again.
I down two little bottles of vodka like they’re water before pouring a third into a glass. The alcohol doesn’t make me feel better, but it does bring an artificial calmness and slow my pulse, which has been beating like crazy since I left Bram’s office.
That allows to cry. So many tears. So many harsh realities bouncing around in my head—harsh realities I didn’t want to face when I climbed into Bram’s bed for the very first time.
Our relationship was built on a foundation of lies that we allowed ourselves to believe. I was a stupid girl living out a fantasy.
It’s not a fantasy anymore. It’s a nightmare.
The worst part is that even with a little alcohol in my system, I can’t see a road that leads me back to Bram. I don’t know if he will even want to have anything to do with me. He hasn’t called once since everything went to hell.
I was scared to believe it could be anything more than just one night—one secret that never saw the light of day. Then it was. It blossomed into something beautiful in front of my eyes, and I didn’t expect it to simply decay.
But it has. It’s turned bitter in my mouth and moldy on the vine.
I consider calling Bram, and after the drink in my hand is gone, I finally work up the courage to dial his number. It goes to voicemail. At least I can say I tried. I gave it one more try, and he’s the one who didn’t answer my call.
Two seconds after I listen to his voicemail, my phone buzzes in my hand. A rush sweeps through me. I hit the button to answer the call out of instinct, and then I realize Bram isn’t the one calling. It’s my mother…
“Kiana! Kiana Brooks, you better not hang up that phone!” Her voice is filled with anger. I remember that version of my mother so vividly I can see her red-faced scowl through the telephone.
“Hey, Mom…” I lift the phone to my ear and mutter.
I should have took a second to look at my phone, but I was overwhelmed by the possibility of hearing Bram’s voice. Now I have to hear one of the two that I really can’t deal with right now.
“Where are you at? I’m coming to get you!” A raspy sigh echoes, and I can tell she’s been crying. Really? Crying for me? That’s a first.
“Mom, I’m fine.” I close my eyes for a moment.
“Your father told me what that bastard did to you!” she says with a trembling tone. “I’m going to kill him myself if your father doesn’t get to him first!”
“You don’t...” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly, young lady!” Her response comes back at me like a snap. “To think, we welcomed him into our home like a member of the family!”
I force myself not to respond as she launches into a tirade. I don’t want to have this conversation with my mother. I don’t want to listen to her run Bram down like he’s pond scum she wants to scrape off her favorite pair of wading boots.
But I want to defend Bram. I want to tell her that what we had was beautiful—that it was amazing—it was everything I had fantasized about since I was a girl too young to have those thoughts. I just don’t know how to put it into words. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway.
“Mom, I think I just need to go to bed early tonight. I don’t feel well…” I pull a line out of my arsenal, one that I’ve used so many times to get out of a conversation with her that I didn’t want to have.
“You’re not feeling well? Oh my god, Kiana. Please don’t tell me that bastard got you pregnant!” Her response is different than usual, but I set myself up for that one.
“No…” I sigh. I don’t think he did, at least. Would I even know at this point?
“Tell me where you are. If you’re not feeling well, then you need to sleep in your own bed—here.” Her tone is quite insistent. “I already talked to your landlord and had him open your door, so don’t tell me that you’re at your apartment!”
I need to add a stern conversation with my landlord to my list of things to do, but that will be so close to the bottom I may never get to it.
“I’m at the Marigold Hotel.” I close my eyes again. “You can come get me if you want.”
I end the call before she can say anything else. I don’t want to go home, but I don’t have the energy to keep going round-and-round with my
