Page 4 of Ghosted in Arkadia
Alexander doesn’t get to come into my room, not even to cum.
I open my nightstand drawer and pull the cuff and pen out. There’s enough blood left in the tube that I won’t need to put thecuff on, so I place it beside me instead. Cathy’s words swirl in my mind, jumbling my thoughts from the drive home.
It isn’t settling when you are stuck on the lowest rung.
I unbutton my work shirt and throw it to the floor before brushing my fingertips against the skin of my forearm. I couldn’t begin to count how many times I have written to my soulmate over the years. Sometimes I sent doodles, while other times I sent hateful words just to get out some of the anger. There hasn’t been a hint of a response in the twenty years I have been trying, not even when I drew a penis on my forehead.
My soulmate wouldn’t have been able to miss that.
Still, I never got a response.
Once I reached my mid-twenties, I realized Mr. Perfect wasn’t coming to sweep me off my feet. I am destined to live alone.
Bringing the pen’s tip to my skin, I can feel a tremor of anticipation belonging to that desperate child inside me. The one still waiting to hear from her one true love. The sensation is addicting, it practically begs for me to send more unanswered messages.
Maybe I just like hurting myself. My incident reports would agree.
Things are getting serious with someone else. Better come claim me before he does.
I set the pen down and watch the crimson letters sink into my skin. The hairs on my arm stand and shivers race down my spine. A second later, the sensation is gone, leaving my heart pounding while the reality of my life comes crashing back.
I’m alone on my bed, staring at my arm for no good fucking reason.
My eyes roll, and I laugh at myself, mentally making fun of my pathetic ass. The degradation helps.
So does vodka.
I get up and grab the bottle bedside my TV, taking a large swig. The bite makes me wince, but I love the burn as the warmth spreads down my throat. It’s why I prefer the cheapest bottle despite being able to afford better.
I don’t want it if it doesn’t hurt.
Each sip is a bitter reminder of my loneliness, the emptiness echoing in the silence of my glass while I pass the time. When I glance at my phone, I notice only five minutes remain until eight.
Shit. I haven’t gotten dressed yet. Vaulting from my bed, I scramble into the closet to rip my little black dress from its hanger. It’s simple, with thin straps and a hem that ends just above my knees.
I throw it over my shoulder and push my pants off my hips.
Fuck. I forgot to shave.
It doesn’t matter; I will just wear my thigh-high black boots, and no one will know.
Except Alexander.
I shrug off the thought, deciding I don’t care what he thinks either. Not really. I quickly shed the rest of my clothes and pull the dress over my head and down my body. I grab my boots next and head to my en-suite to work whatever magic I have time for.
It isn’t much. I’ve barely done a thing when I hear a knock at the front door and put the hairbrush down on the counter before leaning in to inspect my reflection. There isn’t time to do anything other than pull my hair back into a ponytail. The ends sit just above my shoulders, making for a short tail. A sleek updo could look refined if I had long hair like Cathy.
But I don’t, and this is all I have time for.
The heels of my boots click across the floor on my path to the front door and I open it a few inches.
Alexander is wearing a black button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled partway up his arms, and a pair of jeans. He took the timeto shave, leaving short, dark stubble on his chiseled jaw. His dark eyes take me in, roaming my body before landing on my face. He frowns.
“Are you sure you want to go out tonight? You look exhausted.”
Relief floods me, and I lean away from the door, metaphorically hearing my bed call my name. “Sorry,” I breathe, doing my best to sound apologetic. “Work has been draining.”
“I know what you mean. This is the first night I’ve been back in Arkadia without a red-eye flight scheduled,” Alexander says, forcing guilt to tear through my fantasy of curling back into bed alone.
