Page 97 of Inflame

Thoughts of Claire catching on to me keeping tabs on her cross my mind. If I get caught, good. I may need her to continue hating me. Hating me invalidates her feelings that could develop with time. The last thing I need is for her to think there is a chance for anus.

27

CLAIRE

The fading memory of Nic standing in my apartment haunts me as the loneliness starts to close in on me. He stood perfectly, encased in the light glow of the lamp, a beautiful diamond against the dirty backdrop of my life. And just like every man who walks into my life, he is now gone.

A ball forms in the pit of my stomach as I walk around my apartment, looking at how I have been living for the past few months. It is like purgatory. This place was never permanent. It has always been a holding cell until Ethan decides whether I’m worth taking the chance on. And based off his Vegas behavior, I’m not certain I even want that chance anymore.

We never picked out furniture together or looked at art galleries for pieces we both enjoyed. There were no milestones hit, like buying a king-sized bed or inviting friends over for a housewarming celebration. No real holidays took place here. I barely have any memories in this apartment, and those that I do have are all laced with sexual escapades.

This is a fuck pad.

This is not a home.

I walk from empty room to empty room. There are no pictures of us hung in frames. Ethan actually scolded me once for trying to hammer something into the drywall and make a hole. Curtains are not even hung on the windows. There are just the normal commercial shades. Some of my townhouse belongings are pushed into a corner. I’d never really seen the point of unpacking them. How was I so blind for so long to not see what I can easily see now?

I feel sick inside. Ethan did not degrade me. I degraded myself. I was the one who kept my standards low, as Nic said. Why would Ethan want to rise to a bar that I never wanted to push up? I made it easy for him to use me as a sex object and not see me as a human. Sure, I set myself up for failure by dating someone from the Entice database with the hope of havingmore. But as soon as the first red flag was thrown, I should have listened and reevaluated the situation, instead of spending months in a loveless relationship with a gaslighting narcissist.

I settled for less because it was available. It is as if I knew Ethan was wrong for me all along but was trying to get him to love me anyway. And for what? A boost in my self-confidence? To think that if I landed someone like Ethan Maxwell, that somehow I would believe that I am worthy of the attention. We outgrew each other, when in reality we should have been trying to find ways to grow together.

The knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts, and I wonder if it is Blake. He often stops by unannounced, and I always welcome it—especially the days I’m here by myself.

I pull open the door, finding Angie staring at me.

“Hey you,” she says, rocking on her feet.

“Hey,” I say, tears filling up my eyes at just the sight of her. I’m a mess. It hasn't even been five minutes since I’ve said goodbye to her. “Did I forget something?” I look at her hands and see they are empty.

“Come back with me and Graham to our place. It just doesn’t feel right dropping you off here. I have a bad feeling and would love to sleep comfortably.”

“Oh, I don't know.”

“Please. I need to detox from my Vegas trip and could use a fun workout class in the morning. We can discuss our future business plans and come up with a timeline and a goal sheet. We can even make a vision board.”

Her eyes dance because she knows she has me with the vision board. It’s my weakness. The thought of finding the perfect magazine clippings that express my goals is invigorating.

“Oh,” she says going on, “and we can tease Graham by pretending we will be hiring young male models. We can cut out some hotties and glue them to the board just for fun, then make bets on how long it takes for him to notice.”

I laugh over the last part. She must be starving for girl interaction if she is willing to deliberately agitate her beast.

“Let me just throw some things in a bag. Most of my luggage stuff is dirty.”

“Take your time.”

* * *

Waking up in the guest room at Angie and Graham’s penthouse seems vastly different from how I have woken up at my apartment. The room is decorated with modern art, and the linens are of a thread count that must be triple what I have slept on at my own place.

I’ll be the first one to admit that I have spent the past five years living without a care in the world when it came to finances. I would order the most expensive organic produce, from the freshest, most reputable suppliers. I would shop at the boutiques that ensured that what I bought wasn’t also bought by a dozen other people. I would get my hair blown out by a professional. Now that right there is the epitome of entitlement. Who cannot blow-dry their own hair?

Some may say I am spoiled. But when you look at how neglectful and disengaged my parents are, it is obvious to see that the money that was sent to me was for the guilt. So, yeah, I spent it on trying to make myself feel better about my own life, when all I really want is to be loved. I basically was born with the silver spoon in my mouth—but with no one to actually help feed me with it. I had to learn to tend to my basic needs, while my parents went about their own lives.

One glance outside the curtains and it is obvious that the sun has barely risen. The fog on the ground gives the city an enchanted look. I really do prefer the West Coast over the East Coast. Maybe it was just the overcrowded feeling I got living in northern Virginia that turned me off. Plus, people just seem nicer here.

I walk over to the dresser where the start of Angie’s and my vision board rests. We spent hours last night obsessing over what we wanted to accomplish. Between cutting out ideas, having an authentic conversation about each other’s talents and strengths, and then working out a list of needs, I fell asleep dreaming of hope. It’s that feeling of possibility that gets me excited and recharges my soul.

I quietly make my way out of the room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. The guest room is on the main floor, so the chance of waking up Angie and Graham who are on the floor above is minimal. When my life is out of control—like it currently is—I often use a structured diet to help focus my energy. Problem is, I am not in my own place, and since we just came back from an extended weekend trip, I doubt the fridge is stocked with fresh produce.

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