Page 41 of Am I the Only One

Her only response is a slight smile that I mirror in return before leaving.

Carly

Groundhog Day. It’s what I woke up to.

The same unease remains, the same pit in my stomach, the same restlessness in my hands. It’s a litany of side effects that torment me. I couldn’t sit at home any longer, so I came into the office first thing this morning even though I don’t have any students scheduled for today.

I’ve been rifling through paperwork, updating files, and doing anything I can to keep myself busy, but there’s no reprieve for my head and heart. No. Those two are webbed in a labyrinth of anguish.

“I’m running out to grab a sandwich,” Jenny says from my doorway. “You want anything?”

“Lunch already?” I look down at my watch, surprised to see it’s already half-past noon.

“Yeah. You’ve been buried in here for hours,” she notes.

I shove a file back into the drawer and slide the cabinet closed.

“You hungry?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

When she heads out, my stomach grumbles—not with hunger but with anxiety. I look at my cell to see I have no missed texts or calls and then double-check to make sure my ringer is turned up.

Are the two of them still together?

Spinning around in my chair, I retrieve another file to keep myself busy, and about an hour later, my phone finally chimes.

Emma: He just left for work. Coast is clear.

Me: Be there in 20 min.

One foot in front of the other pulls me out to the parking lot and to my car. Chilly hands navigate my car down each busy street, leading me over to The Jefferson. Before I know it, I’m ditching my car with the valet and stepping onto the elevator. In a repetition of yesterday, I knock on the door, but this time, when Emma answers, I know our conversation will be a stark contrast to yesterday’s.

She’s freshly showered with wet hair, and she’s wearing a hotel bathrobe. Her eyes don’t meet mine as she widens the door.

I step inside, and Emma hesitantly walks over to the chairs we sat in fewer than twenty-four hours ago, but I don’t follow. It’s too close to the tangled sheets. Too close to where her dress and panties are strewn on the floor. Instead, I lean against the dresser that’s across from where Emma sits, twisting her hands anxiously.

Lines that etch her youthful face expose guilt. But she shouldn’t feel guilty. She did nothing wrong, only what I asked of her. It’s me that should feel guilty. I’m the one who put this innocent girl in this situation.

“Are you okay?” I eventually ask, but her eyes remain downcast when she gives me a nod. I look to the nightstand where there’s an open bottle of vodka. Walking over, I pick it up and pour some in one of the glasses that’s on the room service cart with two plates of half-eaten breakfast and a pitcher of orange juice. After adding a splash of the juice into the vodka, I hand it to Emma. “Here.”

Reluctantly, she accepts it, staring into the glass for just a moment before taking a gulp. “Thanks.”

I move back over to the dresser and try to keep my voice steady and un-accusatory when I ask, “So, what happened?”

Her eyes skitter around the room and eventually land on the bed. “Exactly what you wanted to happen.”

Tense, I lick my lips. My stomach barrels into itself, and I’m forced to brace my hands along the edge of the dresser. “How?”

Slowly, she looks up at me, finally showing me the confusion and apprehension and guilt that stain her cheeks.

“Start from the beginning,” I prompt. “Start with dinner.”

She takes another swallow of the vodka, seeming to relax a little when she begins. “When I got to Plume,” she says, her voice timid, “he was already at a table, drinking a glass of scotch. He seemed tired, but he was probably just hungry because after we ate our dinner, he became livelier. We talked about my family ... of course, I lied, telling him I was the youngest of two brothers and that my parents were still alive and well. He laughed when I recalled fictitious stories of my childhood.”

“And what about him? What things did he tell you?”

“Not much,” she admits. “He was more interested in getting to know me rather than me getting to know him.” She pauses for a second. “I asked him about you.”

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