Page 52 of Whiskey Splash

Someone’s coming!

But the lock catches. The urgency settles and I hear Desmond’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Esme? Are you in there? Are you okay? It’s me,” his voice is soft and comforting.

“Is he gone?” I cough out. “The asshole with the camera! The guy who—”

I choke on the words, not able to say it out loud.

“Yes,” Desmond confirms. There’s a whooshing sound, which must be his hand brushing against the door. “He’s gone. Security took him.”

My heart pounds, suddenly able to breathe.

“Is security gone?”

“No, they’re still looking through everything. They’d like to talk to you.”

“Not happening!” I snap, putting my face in my hands, jolted by my own anger. God, how did this happen? “Sorry,” I call out. “I’m just—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, sounding genuinely concerned. “Are you alright in there?”

How do I answer that question?

I’m literally curled in a ball in his bathroom with my heart over-palpitating and my fists clenching my bathrobe like my life depended on it.

I’m two breaths shy of a panic attack.

“Esme?” he says again, waiting another deadly length of silence for me to say something. “Hey, would it be alright if I come in?” he asks kindly. “Just me, no one else. Would you be alright with that?”

I don’t answer, sucking down air through my mouth and wiping my nose.

“Esme?”

I look up at the ceiling, at the tiny tile box I’ve quarantined myself within. The cold tile under my feet reminds me too much of being in the pool, of the two of us, of how close and perfect it was, until—

“Please? I promise it will just be me,” Desmond asks again. “I promise I won’t let anyone else near you. Esme?”

In my silence I hear him lay his head against the door and the muffled sounds of what I think is cursing. He’s genuinely pissed about this too.

“Okay,” I call out. “Hold on a minute.”

I get up from the floor, clutching the robe as tightly as I can before I shuffle to the door. My stomach squirrels, not sure what I’m going to say or how I’m going to face him.

“Just you?” I whisper into the door, my hand on the cold knob.

“Promise.”

“Just you,” I repeat, turning the knob till the lock clicks. It snaps loudly like a flash of a lightbulb—fast and unsettling. My stomach roils as I open the door just an inch, the light that’s spilling in feels harsh and invading. But I force myself to step back so he has room to come in.

The door inches open, just enough for Desmond to peek in to see me huddled against the wall in the robe. His face falls at the sight of me and I feel even more embarrassed, turning away from him.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, slipping into the room, wearing a fresh shirt and some gym shorts. He shuts the door and locks it behind him.

“Please don’t turn on the lights!” I say sharply, before he has a chance to touch the light switch.

“Okay, not a problem,” his voice echoes in the small room, feeling hollow and far away, and all I can do is shake my head, completely frustrated.

“Desmond, I’m so embarrassed!” I blubber. “We were naked and … and … some guy was taking pictures and—”

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