Page 91 of Never Let You Go

And it’s true. I’m in the zone, and she’s right there in it with me. She just doesn’t know it.

I still don’t go to her room that night. Because like I said, there’s just so much I can take.

Three straight nights of not going up there, imagining what I could be doing to her, and having the strength not to, just to protect myself. Hearing her come and go, and not joining her.

Not taking advantage of that door that I know she leaves open for me.

That takes a lot of courage.

Enough that I don’t have any left to face her in the morning, answer her silent questions, make it right.

There’s just so much I can do.

I’m starting on my fourth night of this ordeal, and I don’t hear her ordinary noises. The water rushing down the pipes. Her footsteps. The bed creaking.

I turn my lights off, and there’s no streak of light coming from her room through the disjointed floor.

I hop into the secret staircase and find her door locked.

Using the main staircase, I go upstairs. Her room is dark. And empty.

It’s past ten at night on a Friday. Tomorrow is a workday for her.

I grab my phone.

twenty-five

Alexandra

Three nights in a row, I prepped myself for him. I showered. I shaved my legs. I slathered lotion on my skin. I did my hair in lush waves. I applied nude makeup. I slipped on my sexiest lingerie.

I studied poses on the reading nook. On top of the bed. On the freaking rocking chair.

Three nights in a row, he didn’t come. After the kiss we exchanged and the orgasms he gave me. After the room he gave me and the key to his stupid secret staircase.

Angry at myself for being a docile puppet, I repeat the mantra—Men only bring misery—and will myself to not let it be true.

So, on Friday, I take Grace up on her offer to go out. I wear my sexiest lingerie again—the bodice that Cassandra gave me, with the garters and silk stockings that Sarah made me buy when I was trying to spice things up in the bedroom with my last boyfriend. It didn’t work at the time, but Sarah knows her shit.

The boyfriend was the problem.

Not me.

Right?

Or is it me?

Because why has Christopher been ignoring me for the last three days and nights?

Maybe it is me.

I fasten Cassandra’s bodice and think back to what she said when she gave it to me. Something about being careful who I wore it with? Well, if it brings me luck, I’ll owe her.

Then I shimmy into the short red dress that hugs my shapes just right.

Now if that doesn’t get me lucky, I don’t know what will.

Don’t judge me. Christopher ignited a fire in me that needs to be taken care of, and if he won’t be my fireman, someone else might. What else is a girl to do? Just because relationships aren’t for me doesn’t mean I don’t have needs.

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