Page 120 of His Turn

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t fucking play with me, Nadia. Bric called me last night and told me the game was over. He won, you lost. His words exactly. Now tell me what the fuck happened?”

I shrug and slink down onto the couch, curling my legs up underneath me. “He won,” I say.

“I’m gonna need more details. Tell me exactly what happened. You brought him up here…” He waits for me to finish that sentence. But I don’t. “And then…” He walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Nadia—” He stops. “Why are you shaking?”

I don’t know. So I can’t tell him. But I am shaking. It could be from Bric making me stand en pointe at the wall last night. Or the mind fuck. Or both. I don’t know.

“Nadia, talk to me.” Jordan sits down on the couch next to me. “Tell me what happened.”

My eyes fill up with tears. They spill down my face before I can wipe them away.

“Nadia,” Jordan says. All his anger is gone now. There’s nothing left but concern. “Just tell me what happened.”

“He won.”

“How? How did he win? What did he do?”

But I can’t tell that story. Not even to myself, let alone Jordan. So I just shake my head.

He reaches for me, trying to put his arm around me, but I push him off and stand up. I try to cross the room without wincing. My legs… God, my legs. They are weak and rubbery, so I sit down in a chair before I fall.

“Go away,” I say. “I don’t want you here.”

“No,” Jordan says. “I need to know why you’re acting like this.”

I shake my head. “No. You don’t.” And then, because I really need him to leave, I look him in the eyes and say, “Get out of my apartment and don’t come back. I don’t ever want to see either of you again.”

“Nadia—”

“Out!” I yell it as loud as I can.

Jordan stares at me for a moment. Sighs. Stands. And does what I ask.

I stay in that chair all day. Until the light disappears on the other side of the curtains. I shiver. I don’t even get up to go to the bathroom. But I don’t have to, because I haven’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday morning.

My phone rings. Lots of times. Too many times to count.

Whoever is on the other end of that phone isn’t someone I want to talk to. It’s Jordan. Or Bric. Or Logan. I just need them all to go away.

And eventually they do. The ringing stops. I drag myself back into my bedroom, fall on top of the covers, and pass out in the dark.