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I’m in my walk-in closet when I hear the bathroom door open and close. Then it’s my bedroom door.
I walk out, wearing an oversized Christmas sweater and some new sleeping shorts. I check the bathroom, perfectly knowing he won’t be there.
Standing in the middle of my bedroom, I look at the empty space.
He’s gone.
He did what I asked. He respected my wishes.
Then why do I feel like someone just ripped my heart out and made me watch as they stomped on it?
Why does my throat tighten and eyes water?
The headache from earlier comes back tenfold. It pounds in my head to the rhythm of regret. I let him in my life again. I picked up the phone, talked to him. I let him fuck me, let him put me on my knees and use me.
I played the game and I lost.
That’s what seeing Chris feels like. He plans it all out to get what he wants, hides behind that image of perfection to trick you into trusting him. And then he goes for the kill.
I press my palm against my forehead. I need headache tablets.
I huff to myself, biting my lip as I swallow back tears. I have nothing in my bathroom cabinet, but I think some of the house personnel keep medicine in a kitchen drawer.
Padding along the long hallway that links my wing to the grand staircase, the shaking comes back. How could I let him do this to me? Why did I let him back in?
This is going to cost me.
I don’t turn on any of the reception lights. I can find my way to the kitchen in the dark, but to my surprise I don’t have to. From the stairs, I can see that the light is on. It’s pitch-black outside. I haven’t checked the time since Chris showed up in my room. Maybe it’s four or five a.m. and the maid is already up.
But it’s not the maid I find in the kitchen, facing the counter with their back to the door.
“What the hell is going on?”
Chris looks up, twisting his head to see me while he keeps at his activity.
“Hey, Sweets.”
I rub my eyes, wondering if I dreamed tonight’s situation and I’m still asleep. “What are you still doing here?” There’s no poison in my voice, no blame, only relief that he didn’t listen and decided to stay.
“You don’t think I didn’t hear your stomach rumbling the whole night, do you?” A teasing smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Two slices of Emmental, cranberry sauce, and lettuce. That’s still your favorite Christmas sandwich, isn’t it? With a lot of vegan mayo, of course.”
I take a minute to pick up my jaw off the floor, especially when he finally turns around holding a plate with a sandwich cut in half on it.
“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “It’s rye bread. I know it’s the only bread you eat.”
I gulp the emotions down. “Chris…”
“Just take it. You know I won’t be able to go home until I know you’re fed, safe, and tucked in bed.” He pauses, his smile widening. “I already made sure you were thoroughly fucked.”
I lick my lips, searching for something to say. And I find exactly what I should say.
Chris, you need to go home right now.
I don’t want you to take care of me. It’ll only hurt more when you leave.
We are not together anymore. It’s not your job to feed me.
I simply choose not to say them.
