Page 3 of Power Switch

But he never came over like he promised.

With each minute that ticked by, disappointment constricted my heart, making it ache like never before.

As I slip off the pair of black yoga pants and crawl into bed, I attempt to convince myself everything is okay. It's one night, one promise.

At the ridiculous fake engagement party/celebration for defeating Kyle’s bill to strip low-income Americans of their voting rights, I didn’t expect the influx of emotions that bombarded me when confronted with Jessica on his arm. It was then—actually, maybe even before today, but I wasn’t willing to admit it—that I realized I love him. Granted, this is me we’re talking about, so it might not be normal love, but I'm not normal, so I guess its par for the course. With my childhood, I don't know if I'm even capable of wholehearted love, but I do love Trey in my own unique way.

But here I am going to bed alone with those three words still on the tip of my tongue, unable to speak them out loud to the man I feel them for.

Because he didn’t come.

Leaning over, I stretch to flip off the bedside lamp, dousing the room in darkness, the morning sun’s bright rays kept hidden by the thick blackout curtains. The sheets rustle as I wiggle to get comfortable while tugging the comforter up to my chin.

I’ve just closed my eyes, ready to get an hour or so of sleep before I start my day, when a bright light flashes, causing my lids to slide open once again. Not moving from my warm spot in the sheets, I scrutinize the glowing phone screen, debating if I should check it or not.

Part of me knows I can’t handle any more disappointment tonight if it’s not Trey with an explanation. Yet the other half of me thinks if it is him, I'm not ready for an excuse. Maybe it would be better to shut my eyes once more and let this fucking terrible day finally end. Let myself get the couple hours of sleep I need to be somewhat functional for today’s meeting with the Associate Attorney General, Sam Pierce. I have no idea what he wants to talk to me about but if someone from the DOJ wants to meet with me it can’t be good.

Not having the energy left to continue fighting the internal battle I glide a hand out from under the mountain of covers and pick the now dark phone off the nightstand.

Deep breath in, I tap the screen to bring it back to life.

A single text stares back at me.

Trouble: I'm sorry.

I frown at the screen, unsure how to feel with those two words. Am I sad? Jealous? Mad? What is he even sorry for? Not coming over or something worse, something involving him and Jessica?

Exhaustion from the day and my racing thoughts heighten every swirling emotion, making everything too much. With more force than necessary, I shove the annoying phone with its stupid message under the pillow and close my eyes, forcing myself not to acknowledge the dampness along my lashes. All I needed was a phone call, a text earlier in the night just explaining he wasn’t coming over. Anything that would calm my crazy thoughts and visions of him and Jessica together. But apparently I wasn’t on his mind until five in the morning, my worry and time never crossing his damn mind.

Does that mean he was with her until now?

What could they have been doing?

Curling on my side, I try to picture dancing unicorns to get the visuals of Trey and Jessica together out of my mind.

It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine.

As I relax into the mattress, a small seed of doubt plants itself in the conflicting thoughts, keeping sleep at bay.

What if… what if this is the beginning of the end of us?

2

Trey

Fuck it to hell.

A pain-laced groan rumbles in my chest before pushing past my dry lips. Back flat to the bed, I glower at the ceiling like it’s the reason for my pain. A headache throbs a slow beat in the back of my skull like a resounding warrior’s march. I should've just fucking stuck with beer and said no to the bourbon. Amateur move. I know better.

Groaning again, this time with a bit of a whine to it, I press the heels of both palms against my closed eyelids and press hard, hoping the pressure will make the painful world I’ve woken up to somehow disappear around me.

If it was only my throbbing head and sour stomach, I might not be hating life as much as I am in this moment. But it’s not just the physical aches from the hangover that are haunting me. One is of the heart, something that isn’t as easily fixed with Tylenol and caffeine. Last night, I didn’t show up when I promised I would, and I'm not sure if there's anything to makethatbetter. Recalling the melancholy look she shot over her shoulder as she left the party has the twisting of my stomach worsening.

What’s left of the bourbon and beer mixes in my gut, making me consider throwing up just to have some relief. I have no valid excuses for not making it to her place last night when I promised I would. I got drunk, and by the end of the night, when I could finally leave without Mother or Jessica making a scene, it was late and I was done.

But as much as I want to blame Jessica for starting the bourbon trend halfway through the night, she wasn’t the one who kept going back to the bar. No, they weren't the ones who tried to dull their misery with one more sip, one more glass.

That was all me.

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