Page 31 of Choke

“We have had such a great time together, and perhaps when the timing is right, we can continue, but I need to do this. I need to go, and you need to stay.” I know the voice is mine, but I feel like I am watching someone else.

“I love you, Lex.” He whispers, swallowing hard.

Those words. They should make me happy, but they make me internally cringe. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t think he loves me. He hates losing control of the situation. He hates how uncontrollable I am at this moment. I am tempted to point this out to him, but I suspect it’ll just lead to us arguing about whether he feels what he is currently feeling. Instead, I wrap him in a hug. I think hisshoulders shudder, and I am sure when we pull away, he will be crying. I hang on tightly to avoid the guilt his appearance will cause.

I glance at my alarm clock, then rub my hand down his back.

“Go. Your mom’s appointment is in an hour, and you’ll barely make it at this hour. I will call you when I land, and we can figure this out from there.”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t argue.

I pull away, stand, and spin back to the dresser. Avoiding his face. I hear him sniffle behind me and stand. A moment later, I sense the heat of his body behind me, and his hands wrap around my waist, the rugged ridge of his dick pressing into my lower back.

Men are so fucking weird.

I force a little breathy laugh. “Go, Brandon. I need to finish packing, and this is just too much. We will figure it out, okay?”

He presses a kiss into my temple before heading for my door. I hear it open, then a pause—my whole body tenses.

Please don’t come back, please don’t come back.

I chant in my head, counting the seconds that crawl by.

I hear it after what feels like an eternity; the door quietly clicks closed, and he is gone. I sigh with relief. The room instantly seems like the sunshine after a rainstorm. I’m alone for the first time in months, maybe since I moved home. It provides a sense of liberation. My shoulders relax, and I release the dresser I hadn’t realized I’d been gripping. It’s as if I can breathe again after a long time.

I turn around, looking over my room, chaotic with the evidence of my departure. The bed is covered with donation items; my clothes spill over the sides of my suitcase from how I haphazardly threw items in. I slowly walk toward the door, needing to confirm he is gone. I see his key on the table and his sweatshirt draped over the back of the chair. The hoodie he’d slipped over my head one night while we walked home from the theater. I’d complained of being cold—it was such a tender moment between us, and I meant to tell him to take it with me, but I forgot. I pick it up, lift it to my nose, and breathe in. It smells like dust, his cologne long gone. I run my finger over it; the material is soft and worn, and years of wear and tear have broken down the fibers.Returning to the bedroom, I look at it again, and flashes of that walk home are in my mind.

I consider keeping it and stuffing it at the bottom of my suitcase for a second. Not because I want it, but because throwing it out makes this real. But real is the whole point, isn’t it? I toss it onto the bed with the rest of the items I plan to drop at Goodwill on my way to the airport.

As I lower myself to sit on the bed, my stomach shifts weirdly, and I feel a pang of guilt and sadness. I let myself fall back onto the bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling, and feel the first tear slip from my eye. I wanted and fought for this, so why do I feel so awful?

He and I both know there is no way to figure this out. I am moving across the country; he was never invited. This way, he can tell his friends and family this is temporary and that, eventually, he will move too. He can keep that until he finds someone new to distract him.

This is the fresh start I have been desperate for; even if it’s uncomfortable at the moment, I know it will be the best decision of my life. I sit up and reach for my phone. There’s already a text from him. I swipe it away and open the music app, pressing play on the first song that catches my eye. Loud, heavy music streams through the speaker, pulling my mind out of Sad Brandon. Before I set it down, I open his text thread, then his contact, and block his number. I hate to do it. He’s not a bad guy, but I also know I don’t want him checking in for months, begging to visit, to move.

I stand and walk back to the dresser. Instead of adding more to my suitcase, I grab everything remaining and throw it onto the bed. It lands with a satisfying thud, and I smile at the immediate lightness I sense from my shoulders.

Everything goes. It’s an entirely fresh start.

Mine

Lex

Present Day

I smooth my hand over my hair as I enter the ballroom. The place is very crowded, and finding Kendall, Olivia, or anyone else from work. A live quartet plays soft classical music in the corner that is, frankly, a bit fucking boring in the corner. The butterflies in my stomach collide as I take in the faces of strangers I need to schmooze with tonight. After three years, these corporate events still make me anxious. The mix of perfumes, cologne, and a faint hint of cigars lingers heavily in the air, causing my head to spin slightly. I push forward with my head held high and shoulders back, hands relaxed at my sides.

As I make my way through the suits and ties, I snag a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing server and resist the urge to pull my cell from my bag to text Kendall. Instead, I lock eyes with an older gentleman who has been intently watching me. Smiling, I navigate toward him. His face lights up as I approach.

As we engage in small talk—he’s from the next city over, his wife couldn’t make it, and his kids are grown and have kids of their own—I smile and nod while scanning the room behind him. His voice is low and gravelly, and as he raises his glass to his lips, the diamonds in his cuff-links sparkle. I think he asks me if I am married as I spot Olivia across the room, leaning against the wall and talking to a man who, for all intents and purposes, could be the doppelgänger of the one I am talking to. I glance at the man who has been a prop for the last 10 minutes and smile, excusing myself and promising to find him once the dancing begins.

Lies, I don’t dance.

He pulls a business card from his pocket and hands it to me. I noticed that he is the chief executive officer of a company that Kendall has been trying to partner with for at least twelve months. I make a mental note to offer her as a tribute for a dance later and hurry across the room to Olivia. As I approach, she offers me a glance that screams, ‘Save Me.’ I throw my arm around the shoulder of the man talking to her and notice the layer of sweat glistening on his forehead. His overpowering cologne hits me a moment too late: musky and synthetic.

“Mind if I steal Ms. Reed for a moment?” I ask the man.

“Only if you promise to return her soon.” His accent is thick, and I can’t place it. His tone is one I recognize—the kind that means he shouldn’t be left alone with women.

---