Page 4 of The Don

“I’m going.”

“Faster,” I say with wide eyes.

When she finally steps into the aisle, I dart past her toward the middle of the plane. There’s no line, and when I look up at the icons, I can see that one of the three toilets is free. I break out in a run toward it. I have to breathe deeply through my nose and clench my jaw. If I open my mouth, I think I’ll fall completely apart, and I can’t do that. I’ve felt like this so much in the past few weeks. Maybe I’veonlyfelt like this. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on, physically but also emotionally.

On the physical front, the answer is not much longer, actually. As soon as I close the door to the toilet, my stomach feels like a rickety boat on a turbulent sea. I press my back against the door and close my eyes and pray for my stomach to calm. I take a deep breath in through my nose.Big mistake.The antiseptic scent makes my stomach roil, and I gag. I just barely make it down onto my knees and lift the lid of the toilet to throw up not just the breakfast I inhaled but everything I’ve eaten for the past ten hours or more, which hadn’t been much, thank God.

I puke until I’m just dry heaving and feel like trash in a midday sun. When I’m finally done letting go of everything I’d just eaten — but none of my worries, unfortunately — I stand, put the lid on the toilet down, flush, and then turn to the sink. While washing my hands, I make another mistake and look at my face in the odd metallic mirror. I look fucking terrible. I would recoil at my reflection, but I’m so goddamn tired that I can’t even muster the energy for that. I feel sad, and I look even sadder. I’m sweating, my mouth tastes foul, and I feel completely empty. This has got to be the rock bottom moment of my life.

But still, somehow, I can hear Salvatore’s voice in my head.

“Bella.”

I’ve never felt less beautiful in my life.

Three sharp knocks on the door make me jump.

“Hey,” Zoe calls. “I brought you a bottle of water.”

“You…you did?”

“Yeah. You were literally green before you ran back here.”

I place my palms against my stomach, pressing down, trying not just to hold myself together but to soothe this tiny thing inside of me. I imagine that the little nugget is terrified in this moment because I’m terrified. “I was?” My voice cracks. I don’t even waste the energy hoping Zoe didn’t hear that because Zoe hears everything.

“Yeah, girl. I don’t blame you. I’m a little queasy myself. Airport eggs were not the way to go. My bad. Do you want this water or not?”

I nod before I slide the lock open. Zoe wrinkles her nose when she sees me and, I guess, smells me.

“Ick,” she says, pressing the bottle of water into my hands. “I’ll grab your toiletry bag.”

“Thank you,” I say, definitely on the verge of tears.

“No problem.” She nods and covers her mouth and nose with her left hand before pulling the door closed.

I engage the lock and breathe a sigh of relief.

I still look like shit and feel like shit.

There’s no ‘but’ at the end of that realization.

This is just who I am now, apparently.

3SALVATORE

I see Shae everywhere.

I don’t even have to try. I opened my eyes this morning, and there she was on top of me, as real as anything, her hair loose around her head like a halo, a smile on her face only for me, just like I have imagined her every day since we met. Each morning, it’s harder to drag myself from my bed. But no matter, the mirage of her follows me into the shower. In my mind, she’s naked and shivering in the corner, watching me while I touch myself. And then she sits demurely, naked, on my bed while I dress.

One day, I think I might cease to exist outside of the fantasy where she returns — or never left. Where I have another life. With her.

As I walk to the restaurant, I think I see her hair in a crowd of lost tourists, and I turn toward the confused cluster of people without thinking. And then I feel like a foolish old man realizing those dark brown curls were just a trick of the light, just another figment of my imagination. When the tourists continue on their way — never having even noticed me — I find myself in a sudden quiet that reminds me of her delicate laughter.

I taste her climax on my tongue all day, every day.

The time since I last saw her feels like an eternity or the blink of an eye, but neither span of time manages to dampen the significance of our encounter or the way it has unwittingly changed me. That afternoon is crystal clear in my mind’s eye, sharper than so many of the years before. For the past few months, I’ve pushed myself to the limit, wallowing in my longing in ways I never have before. And the worst part is knowing that there’s no way for this feeling to end besides letting the memory of her go.

But I refuse.

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