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“Oh yeah, I bet there’s something deeper,” Rebecca crudely adds, and I turn my nose up at her vulgarity.
She takes a moment to look at me, and whatever she sees must reveal the truth. “Holy shit, you’re not fucking him, are you? Oh my God.” She covers her mouth, attempting to mask her laughter.
Her ridicule over a touchy topic for me has my cheeks reddening further, and I lower my face, ashamed. Why does everything have to be about sex?
“Sweetheart, from one girl to another, men like that ain’t gonna stick around if you’re not putting out. I mean, look at him, and well, look at you,” she cruelly states. “A man like Dixon wants to fuck, not talk, and if you don’t give him what he wants,he’ll find it elsewhere. Honey, I’m sure you can see many willing participants in this room who would happily cheat on their spouses to tend to his needs. Me included. You wanna keep a man like that? Well, you better give up the goods.”
“What are you talking about?” I defensively ask, the walls closing in around me.
“I’m saying you gotta rock his world before someone else does it for you. This innocent, virginal gig is only going to last for so long.”
I gasp, stunned she can read me so easily.
“Gosh, don’t look so disgusted. Most women would kill to be in your shoes. Sex is power, and that power best be in your hands, not his. If you want to keep him, you’ll dowhateverit takes,” she states, but I’m no longer listening to her.
I begin to feel sick, her words stirring up unwanted memories, memories I promised to deal with once I got back to New York. But hearing Rebecca say the words I know to be true has my past torpedoing into me, and I’m going to hurl.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing quickly and making a mad dash through the room.
The moment I reach the restrooms, I crouch over the toilet bowl and heave up the entire contents of my stomach. I vomit until nothing is left, but I continue to purge until I’m gagging on my tears and regret. My loud sobs echo off the bowl, and I thump the cold tiles underneath me, wishing I wasn’t so fucked up and vulnerable to my past.
The dizziness kicks in, and I cover my ears,hiswords on a cruel repetitive loop, one I’ve been trying to silence for thirteen years.
“You’ll do this, Sunny. If you love me, you’ll do this.”
Ihave no idea where she is. I’ve searched this entire hotel for Madison, but she has vanished without a trace. The concierge has checked her room, but she’s not in there, and I’ve tried her cell, but it goes straight to voicemail.
When I returned to the table and saw she was gone, Rebecca said she went to the restroom and would be back soon. However, when twenty minutes went by and she was still gone, I knew something was wrong.
Charging down the corridor, I see a small group of people crowding around a room. Looks of confusion and concern mar their features, and I race toward them, my heart in my throat.
“What’s going on?” I bluntly ask an older lady in a lime pantsuit.
“Someone’s in there,” she replies, pointing at the linen closet. “Some poor girl ran in there and has locked the door. We’ve tried contacting staff, but they seem too busy to deal with us commoners,” she adds, looking down her nose at me.
Of course they are—they’re too busy with my drunken colleagues.
“Please, will you let me through?” I ask, pushing my way past the nosy bystanders.
The moment I reach the door, I squat low and place my ear against the door because I can’t hear much, thanks to the murmuring crowd. As I listen closer, I hear a tiny sniffle and then some muffled words, and without a doubt, I know that Madison is inside.
“Madison? Are you in there?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soothing and calm.
When she doesn’t reply, I ask again, “Madison, it’s Dixon. Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
“Should I call security?” an onlooker asks.
I hold out my hand, shaking my head. “No, I have this. Please, could you all give me a minute?”
Most comply, while others take a step back, still loitering close by, but it’ll have to do.
“Angelo, it’s me. If you can hear me, please give me a sign that you’re okay. You don’t have to come out. I’m right here with you. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
The crowd hushes, listening to me reason through a door.
I press my ear against the wood, listening closely, but hear nothing. I have to keep trying because if she doesn’t reply, I’m minutes away from breaking down the door. I could call the concierge, but I really want to save her the embarrassment of the entire hotel staff knowing she’s locked herself in a linen closet.
