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“I need to go,” she says, grabbing her purse and coat from the armchair.
“Where? Fuck.” I check my watch. “The hour isn’t up yet.”
“It doesn’t matter, Riot.” She pulls on her coat, gives me a determined look. “This isn’t working. It makes no sense for me to stay any longer. I have an exam to study for.” She presses her lips together, makes a face. “You’re a nice guy. Thanks for trying to help.”
“Pax...Wait.”
Fuck. I thought that we were doing fine. That we were making progress.
But she’s already leaving. “Goodbye, Riot.”
“Yeah.” I clench my hands on my thighs, force myself to stay, not to go after her. “Goodbye, Pax.”
Hell. It shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t give a shit. It shouldn’t matter. She’s a client, for fuck’s sake. I’m just the commodity. I don’t have wants and desires.
I shouldn’t want more time with her, more of her touch, her sweet smile.
And it doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s absolutely nothing I can fucking do but watch her go.
***
I sit and stare at the closed door for a while, then get up and go into the bathroom, figuring I still have some time before they come and kick me out of the room. I splash water on my face, rub it viciously with the towel.
Tell myself to suck it up and stop thinking about it.
About her.
Getting obsessed much? Quit this, Riot. It isn’t like you to get hung up on a girl, no matter how pretty she is.
It’s her pain, I realize. Her sadness. Her fear. It has a hold on me. Won’t let me go.
Well, tough.
I turn toward the shower, consider a quick hand job to take off the edge, then decide against it. If I do, I’ll be giving in to the fantasy, stroking myself to the image of her, to the things I want to do to her.
Not exactly what I need if I want to forget about her.
Besides, I have more work tonight. Another appointment. An easy one, with a steady client I’ve had since I started at the agency.
Get your head on straight, Riot. This is the life you’ve chosen, the one that can pay the debts and bills for Kyle. You made a promise. You keep that promise, no matter what. No cold feet now. Not over a girl who’s too scared to even touch you.
Turning away from the mirror, I run my hands through my hair and tell myself to get on with it. I have time, but I need to walk this off, this strange feeling that’s squeezing my chest. I grab my jacket and head out, into the cold winter evening.
The cold slams into me like a fist as I step onto the street. I hunch over, zipping up my jacket, and consider my options as I straddle my bike and kick off the stand. I have an hour to kill, and my head is buzzing—with Pax, with the memories, with the feeling of a wall against my back. A dead-end. A one-way highway.
Fuck it.
I slam the helmet on my head, pull on my leather gloves and slip into the traffic, zipping between cars. Let the cold air clear my head, numb my thoughts. I twist the throttle, rev the engine, roar through the streets. And then the noise swallows me and I slip through time like a shadow.
That’s what I am. A shadow, a dark reflection, a stray bullet drifting through life without aim.
***
The wrought iron gate is shined to a polish. I ring the bell and it opens automatically. I ride my bike into the drive and park it, climb off and kick the stand into place.
Pulling off my helmet, I stick it under my arm as I make my way to the front door. It’s already open, and I step inside, close it behind me.
Tall ceilings, a chandelier, prisms of light, paintings on the walls. This house makes me feel small despite my six-foot-four frame. Unreal, as if I’ve entered a fairytale.
