The excitement I felt at seeing his apartment is gone. This place isn't even really his.
A door in the apartment opens and I freeze.
Beau moves around the counter and calls out, "Hello? Who's there?"
"Who do you think?" comes a sultry reply. "You know I can't stay away for long." A woman with dark hair comes strutting out in only a pair of panties. Her legs are toned and impossibly long, her hip bones clearly visible, her stomach so flat it's almost concave. Her breasts are impossibly pert.
Before my gaze can land on her face, Beau moves in front of me and scolds, "Tasha, what are you doing here? Go put some fucking clothes on."
"That's new," she murmurs, moving closer. I can't see her around Beau, but I see him stiffen and take a step back.
"Knock it off Tasha," he warns in a deep voice.
"I love it when you get all bossy," she purrs. “Whatcha got behind you, Beau? A new plaything?”
I'm dumbfounded. I don't even move. I stand there and watch as she wraps her arms around him, bringing her naked body to his, eyeing me from his shoulder.
She mock whispers, "I don't mind if she watches. It wouldn't be the first time, but we've never had someone quite so—robust join us. Didn’t expect that—from you.” I stumble back. “Why didn't you call me, if you were desperate enough to bring a fat girl home?" I see her red tipped fingernails curving into his back. I take two further steps back.
My ears are ringing. I feel strangely calm when I turn and walk quietly out the door. I check out, automatically moving to the elevator. The ride down the elevator blinking, as I watch the numbers fall past. As the elevator doors open, I realize what this feeling is. The other shoe dropped. Someone finally said what I was waiting for them to say. It’s what I’ve been saying to myself all along. I leave the lobby and walk with little direction at all.
I still can't comprehend what I witnessed. He just stood there with her arms around him. He told her to get dressed and asked her to knock it off. Knock what off exactly? What was she doing that I couldn't see? Was that Laura? I find myself unable to imagine their faces to compare, even though I have seen them. He called her Tasha. Just how many women are in Beau’s life that don’t make it to the Wikipedia page?
I’m reminded of her nasty words. I felt every single one, but I won't give her the satisfaction of knowing how wounded I really am.
Did I accept his explanation of his relationship with Laura too easily? Maybe I was desperate to believe him, to believe he was this great guy I wanted or imagined.
When I finally look up from my musings, I'm closer to Central Park than I should be this time of night. I move to the nearest hotel and wait my turn in the que for a cab ride home.
It's after eleven when I walk into my studio. I strip my coat and boots off before falling onto my messy bed. My phone buzzes, but I don’t bother with it. Whatever it is can wait.
I grab the pillow he used, and without thinking I bring it to my nose, wishing it held some of his scent. A few tears fall as I will myself to sleep.
I wake up only an hour later, gasping for air, startled by the incessant noise of my intercom buzzer ringing in my ears.
My sleep-addled mind knows who's likely out there, but I have no desire to speak to him. He'll make some excuse. He’ll have some explanation, and like a fool, I'll believe it the second I look at him, not because it'll be true, but because honestly, I want to believe it.
I know better. Even with me standing right there, he did nothing to stop her, and what right do I even have to expect any different? Other than him saying he wanted more, we never once discussed what we were to each other.
Everything in our relationship has happened so fast, especially with the threat of Daryl or whoever is leaving the flowers. All of it was pushing us closer than we perhaps would have progressed naturally. Perhaps even pushing us into a relationship that otherwise would not have happened, Tash did say I was —unexpected for Beau. I shake my head at the thought, trying to lodge it from my mind, but it reminds me of all the women in his life. Even with him basically living with me, it felt weird to say, ‘Hey Beau. So are we exclusive? We said no casual, but what does that mean?’
I hug my pillow as my thoughts spiral.
The noise stops. My phone on the nightstand vibrates, the screen lighting up as a series of alerts come up on my phone. We still haven't exchanged numbers, weird as that is. He’s been with me so often that I haven’t thought to ask for his number. He must be contacting me through Facebook.
The intercom buzzer picks up again, prompting my reaction.
I pick up my phone, and the first thing noticed is the time because it's after two in the morning. I see numerous notifications from the bookstore’s page. I don't open the messaging app. Instead, I just read the first few words from each one. Most start the same.
I'm fucking worr…now
I’m sorry pleas…now
Answer the door1m ago
Are you home?2m ago
I can’t find you…1 hr ago
