Page 24 of If He Hadn't Cheated
Knox hums. “He will.”
“That’s depressing. He’s just a kid.”
“It’s honest and weren’t all just kids at one point and time?”
I sip my coffee and close my eyes. “I guess but it’s sad to think that way.” The caffeine sharpens the edges of my thoughts, but it can’t clean them. After a while, I say, “I used to want things that I thought were everything to life. A lot of things. Marriage. Kids. A house with a backyard.”
“They are part of it and you still could. What changed? I’m not talking about what happened with…him.”
“Life. How it’s all a facade.”
“Be more specific.”
I sigh. “I fell in love with someone who only loved me when I was free to have whoever I wanted. He lied. It was never love but he made me believe it was. And then I got addicted to the silence that came after the screaming. I broke.”
Knox is quiet for a long time. Then he says, “You’re stronger than you think.”
I open my eyes and look at him. “You don’t know this version of me.”
“I’m learning.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been where you are.”
That shuts me up. I stare at him, really stare. There’s pain behind his calm. I see it now. The kind that doesn’t announce itself but bleeds into everything.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
He meets my eyes. “I lost someone I couldn’t save. Someone I wanted more than anything.”
I want to ask him who it is. Who he couldn’t save but not today. We sit in silence after that. Different silences than I’ve known. Not heavy. Not hostile.
Just... quiet.
Back at the bar that night, everything feels louder than usual. The lights too bright. The music too sharp. Even the ice clinks louder in the glasses I’m pouring.
Jazz comes in late, lipstick smeared, eyes puffy. “You good?” I ask.
She nods too quickly. I say nothing, but I hand her a soda instead of vodka. She takes it and walks off. The pain is contagious in this place. We pass it around like cigarettes.
By midnight, my hands start to shake again. The headache comes back. The craving for a drink. A line of coke.
I find myself thinking about the stash I threw away. I wonder if it’s still in the dumpster. I wonder how low I’d have to be to go digging for it.
Knox isn’t here tonight and I hate how much I notice. It’s like he’s my line of reason.
By 2 a.m., I’m standing in the alley behind the Velvet Room, breathing hard. The air smells like rot and piss.
I close my eyes and lean against the wall. Then I hear footsteps. I tense.
A figure rounds the corner and I sign in relief. Knox. He says nothing. Just holds out a bottle of water and a protein bar. I take them.
“Why do you keep showing up?” I ask, voice cracking.
“Because you don’t ask for help.”
“I don’t want help.”
