Page 96 of Choke

My chest seizes as she slams the door so hard the truck rocks. I grip the steering wheel, anchoring myself. She takes off, running to the doors of her condo.

Get out of the truck. Go after her.

Don’t let her go.

I should chase her. I should fix this.

But I can’t fucking move.

The Ring

Lex

I walk with purpose. Stepping into the elevator, I keep my back flush against the wall, head up, and eyes forward. My heart hammers, and I coach myself to keep breathing. The doors open, and I step out, my movements almost a march to my door, and only when I pull my keys out and reach them toward the lock do I see how much my hands shake.

Get inside.

This lock doesn’t stick like my old one. It’s the new lock to which Adrian has a key. I need to remedy that tomorrow. I need to lock him out. I push the door open and close it behind me, twisting the lock. As soon as I’m closed inside, I sink to the floor, my body wracked with sobs. Pulling my knees into me, I lean into the door, trying my grounding exercises.

Feel the floor under me.

Feel my clothes on my skin.

Feel his cum between my thighs.

Fuck.

I bury my head in my knees as the tears continue to fall. Flashes of the party burn through my mind—Greg watching us, the crowd, the way Adrian felt, and his cold, detached tone. My skin crawls. My stomach churns.

I’m going to be sick.

I push myself up and dash for the bathroom, falling to my knees as my stomach empties itself. I’m not drunk; this isn’t alcohol-related. I’m so fucking disgusted that I let that happen—that I thought wecould be anything other than poison for each other. The hair on the back of my neck rises; it feels like I’m being watched. I spin around, looking into the main area, but it’s empty. I need to wash this off of me: him, tonight, all of it.

Standing, I pull the short dress over my head, remove my panties, which are covered in both of our cum, and step into the shower. When I turn it on, the water is freezing, but I don’t move. I let it cascade over me while it heats, like a minor punishment for being so fucking weak. I don’t know how long I stay in this spot, scrubbing my skin repeatedly, but I don’t feel clean. I feel rotten and decayed. When the water runs cold again, I turn the shower off, step out, wrap a towel around my body, and then head straight to bed. I can’t look at myself.

My alarm jars me out of sleep. I forgot I work today. I contemplate calling in sick, but I could use the distraction. I feel like a zombie as I go through the motions, pulling my clothes on, twisting my hair into a low bun, offering Millie some kisses, and heading out the door. The day passes in a blur, bouncing between flashes of last night and client meetings. Kendall pops her head in and invites me to lunch with Olivia, but I decline. My stomach still feels so twisted and off. She lingers a minute, staring at me.

“You okay, honey?” She asks.

“Yeah, just tired. It was a long few days.”

I’m not ready to talk about it; I’ll never be prepared to talk about it. She opens her mouth like she will press me for details, but she must rethink it because she silently closes the door and walks down the hallway. Relief hits me, and I rise, walking to the wall of windows, closing the blinds, and locking the door. I need to be alone. At 5:30 p.m., I walk home. Mildred greets me at the door, rubbing her smooth body over my legs, purring loudly. I smile for the first time in what feels like a million years. She’s the best medicine.

When I open the fridge, I look over its contents, sighing when nothing appeals. Early bedtime is about the only thing that seems acceptable. I avoid the mirror but force myself to brush my teeth, eyes trained downward. It’s barely 7 p.m. when I crawl into bed, allowing the first tears of the day to fall. My quiet sobs lull me to sleep.

Wednesday and Thursday blur together—wake up, get dressed, brush my teeth, go to work, come home. I hate myself too much to eat. That night haunts my dreams, a cruel taunt from my subconscious. I’m in the middle of that party, leaning back into Adrian, on the verge of coming, when something pulls me from sleep. My alarm clock says it’s 9:18 p.m. I’ve been asleep for two hours.

I’m about to force myself back to sleep, assuming normal city sounds woke me when I hear the knock again. Groaning, I rise from the bed. The oversized shirt I’m wearing hits mid-thigh. Good enough. I stumble toward the door and peer through the peephole, and my heart stops. His head is turned down, but there’s no question it’s Adrian. I’m frozen in place. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, he’ll go away.

“Lex, open the door.” He says loud enough for me to hear but not in a demanding tone.

“Go away.” My voice wavers, and my eyes sting.

Fuck.

Don’t cry.

“Please. Open the door.” His voice is steady and measured.

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