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I’d thought she had fallen just as hard as me, but during our seventh month together, on a routine night, I let myself into her apartment, just like I’d done many times before. I’d usually see her alone on the sofa, reading or writing, but on this occasion—the night I’ll now never be able to wipe from my memory—she was not alone.
My blood ran cold when I saw a man I didn’t recognize, trouser-less and delivering some kind of pleasure she couldn’t be bothered to pull her attention from. I stood there in the doorway until she finally managed to meet my gaze, peering around his arm in surprise. I didn’t utter a word as I stared at the gut-wrenching scene. It was obvious she didn’t expect to see me that night. And clearly, she didn’t want to.
After a few seconds, she opened her mouth like she was about to say something to me, but when she chose to gaze back up at her new lover instead, I went completely numb, turned, and left without a word.
Her unfaithfulness hit me like a ton of bricks, sending me into months of depression. I barely even realized how exposed I let myself become, or how far out on my sleeve I wore my heart. She took it, squeezed out every last drop, and then squished it into the ground like a used cigarette butt.
Since then, I’ve locked the damage up somewhere deep within me, choosing to forego my emotions and stick with relieving simple urges instead, making sure not to mistake them for love. I don’t even let myself ponder the idea of falling that deeply again. For the last year, all I’ve allowed myself are single nights of fun, or short, week-long flings. And still now, I never let anything grow further than that, for fear that the scar on my heart will tear open again.
I refuse to take that risk.
***
Early the next morning, I blink my groggy eyes open, groan, and throw an arm across my face. I tossed and turned all night, replaying my failure with Sophie over and over again in my head. I’m starting to wonder what she would have said if I'd asked to see her again.
I know she wasn’t feigning her interest last night. It’s not possible to fake the kind of look she had in her eyes. But even if she would have given me her number, I’m not quite sure what I’d do with it. My heart is still a cold, tangled mess, courtesy of Heather. I’m not ready to touch it yet. I’m not ready to start working out the knots.
A phone number from Sophie would simply mean an opportunity to see her again the next time I return to New York. An opportunity to re-light that spark between us, and maybe give her a chance to reconsider her reservations. It wouldn’t mean anything serious, just another play at a night alone with her.
I look around at my hotel room, watching the morning light illuminate the memories from last night. I almost close my eyes to block it out, but they land on the desk chair across the room, because still draped over it is Sophie’s coat.
I sit straight up in bed, staring in awe at the black leather fabric as if it is a figment of my imagination. How did she forget it? How did I miss it? I rub my hand down my face. Of course we both missed it. She left so quickly and neither of us were in a state to remember such a thing.
I climb out of bed and pick it up, turning the smooth material around in my hands. My heart is beating faster now. I don’t have her number. I don’t know where she’s staying. I know next to nothing about her. But this is her coat.
She needs it back, and I need to get it to her.
Yes, that’s vital, I decide.
I sit down in the chair and lay the coat on my lap, picking up my phone and opening my texts to Drew.
Kai:
How did things go last night?
He responds quickly.
Drew:
No complaints man.
Kai:
Did Leah tell you where she and Sophie are staying?
Drew:
The Wingate I think. Why?
Kai:
Sophie left her coat here. Thanks.
Drew:
Ah score! ;) But you didn’t get her number?
Kai:
