Page 31 of Her Filthy Mistake

I scrub the bar of soap over my body, dragging it with more force than necessary. But taming the exhaustion and anger that’s weighing me down is impossible. He’d lie. He’d always lie. So why would she believe me? I stand motionless as the water streaks down my aching muscles.

It’s better that she thinks I used her. That I don’t have feelings for her. Because she deserves someone that her father would respect. Someone she’d respect. A man who has the talent to go with his aspirations.

I jam the handle back down and cringe as the interior mechanisms grind at the pressure. Survive the day. Survive the week. And return to your life.

As I scrub the white towel over my body, I work through the different sayings and mantras that have saved me over the past two years. Working through them one at a time until the tension has eased and the need to drink abates.

After I drag on my clothes, I call my therapist’s office with the intention of leaving a message to set an appointment for when I return.

When she answers, I say, “Hello, Dr. Travers.” I glance at the clock. She’s not one to sleep in, but with the time difference, this is extreme. “I’m sorry for calling this early.”

“It’s fine. Is everything okay?” Dr. Travers is the third therapist I’ve seen over the years, but the first one that I’ve built an instant rapport with. I don’t know if it’s her or if it was because I was finally done trying to destroy myself while pretending, I was okay. It doesn’t matter which.

“No, but I’ll make it. I’m not using and don’t plan to.”

“Good.” Her voice is calm and nonjudgmental. If I told her I was using, she’d still have that same steady presence. “Remember everything we’ve talked about. You’re a strong person who’s weathered many storms, and you have the skillset it takes to overcome anything without using.”

“I know.” I stand straighter and let the hours of therapy soothe my frayed nerves. Moments pass, and I clear my throat. “I’m fine, but I need to move up my appointment.”

“Let me look at my schedule.”

We go back and forth on a couple of dates and times until we decide on one that works for both our schedules.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Remember, you’ve always been your own worst enemy. You’re a much better man than you give yourself credit for.” With that, she hangs up.

****

One Hour Later

I’ve managed to avoid running into Zoe since last night, but when I step into the conference room, my luck runs out. Not that I expected anything different.

My gaze instantly stops on her. She’s wearing a teal one-piece swimsuit with a sheer white cover-up. This is the most she’s been clothed since the first night on the island. But her outfit does nothing to disguise her figure. My mouth dries as I watch her interact with Carly and my brother.

Their conversation is animated as Carly hugs Zoe and then steps back, holding her upper arms. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she’s beautiful. Those long legs still beg to be wrapped around me. And once again, her hair sways as she moves. Now that I know what it feels like to have those silken strands between my fingers, my hands itch to bury themselves between the tresses.

Carly frowns and eyes her up and down. That must be what they’re discussing. Those dark circles under her eyes. Her lack of sleep. Because of me. My gut churns. Not that she’ll tell them it’s my fault.

“Jace.” Landon sees me and waves me over.

But before I can get to them, Elise breezes into the room and traipses to the lectern. She smiles at the group and positions herself behind the microphone. “I’m so happy to see you all here.” Her eyes twinkle. “And on time. Are we ready for today’s activity?”

“Yes.” Several members of our party agree in unison. But Zoe hangs back, not meeting my gaze. The pillows are back, tossed on the floor by our assigned areas. Next to each seating area are two tablets. This time, there’s more space between the pillows.

“Go ahead and take your seats. On your tablets, you’ll find a list of questions. First, you’ll answer the questions about yourself, and then, you’ll answer the questions as you believe your partner will answer them. The couple who understands each other the best will receive that amazing prize I told you about yesterday.” Her smile widens as we drop down to our seats. “Who’s ready to win?”

Everyone but Zoe and I respond to her question. Great. I’ve ruined the joy of competition for her also.

“No cheating.” Elise winks, and everyone drops their heads to study the questions.

What is your favorite color and why? That’s easy–black. The color of emptiness. No. Green. The color of Zoe’s eyes. I type in the answer and pray that our responses aren’t shared with our partner. Or with the group.

I study the question from Zoe’s point of view. We missed this one last night. It seemed too simple to even discuss. She looks good in every color, but which one is her favorite? Blue? She loves the ocean.

What are you afraid of? I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. I answered this last night, and my response is still the same. I’m afraid I’ll never have what I want. That I’ll spend the rest of my life wanting something that’s just out of reach. She thinks I mean a music career. That doesn’t even matter anymore. Because without her, it would be meaningless.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. What is Zoe afraid of? Zoe is afraid of not being respected by the other people in her profession.

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