Page 73 of Rainstorm

“Are you sure I look okay? Do I look too extra wearing this?” I’ve asked Ariel all this at least fifteen times in the past half hour, so she must be sick and tired of me. “Does it really look good?”

“It does!” She rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”

I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror with my hair still looking great from the hair salon, make-up on, dressed and wearing heels; however, I feel naked, exposed and vulnerable.

“Rosie, just forget about everything that’s going on in your head right now,” Ariel insists from behind me.

I swear Ariel has a crystal ball somewhere, the way she reads my insecurities. That woman is a witch.

“It’s just more complicated than I thought, Ariel.”

‘It’s complicated’ That’s the status they put on Facebook, isn’t it? But it’s not just the divorce, it’s my whole life that’s complicated.

“It’s not complicated. Your ex is an asshole. That’s it. Time to move on,” she states, and after my exchange with Chase today, I’m unable to defend him.

He’s a complete idiot.

He’s not only an idiot, he’s a jackass.

“You need to get laid,” Ariel continues. “Go to your party, shake that bootie and don’t come back until tomorrow. Preferably past noon, after some great morning after sex.”

But just the thought of another man putting his hands on me grosses me out and gives me the chills.

“It’ll be a miracle if I even talk with some strange guy, let alone sleep with them.”

“You never know, miracles do sometimes happen.” She winks back at me.

Half an hour later, my knees are shaking. I’m in the elevator with a crowd of people heading to the rooftop terrace of the hotel where the party is being held.

When the doors open, I feel exposed without my long mane of dark hair to hide behind, so I play with the bangs around my face, missing the feel of my long hair on my back. I set out looking for just two things; wine and a familiar face. I only succeed in finding the wine, so I have two large glasses. But hey, who’s counting?

Time flies when you’re having fun, people say. Well, I’m not exactly having fun, but the waiter keeps bringing the wine which eases things, and at least marinating my brain cells makes everything seem more fun. Keeping my neurons swimming in a white pool of joy is definitely beneficial, even if it makes me a bit tipsy.

I dance with some guy who’s been following me around like a shadow, while the crisp evening air resounds with loud conversations and lyrics about electric love. But a nasty chill comes over me when I feel the guy’s hands creeping down my back toward my ass.

This is not fine.

This is not cool.

I’m not ready to get close to another man.

It’s not this man’s hands I want running over my skin.

It’s not his breath I want caressing my neck.

His aren’t the lips I want teasing my exposed throat.

I push him off and walk away, not caring what he thinks of me.

The music changes. The voice of Julian Casablancas singing about not wanting to be alone again crushes me.

I didn’t want to end up like this. I never intended to find my way to this loneliness, and he might be singing about some instant crush, but inside my chest something is being crushed, pressed and squeezed. Crushing me indeed.

A knot forms in my throat. Alarm bells ring in my head. No more wine for me. It’s making me act out of character, forget who I really am.

I need to get out of here.

I have to go, return to my safe haven.

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