The front door buzzer drills into my brain, but I’m unable to move. Unwilling to move. For all I know, it’s James and I’m not ready to see him. Will I ever be?
Last night I ran away from the club, not waiting for his explanation. Not even truly understanding the level of betrayal, only sensing its significance. A mature reaction would have been to stay and let him explain.
That felt like an even bigger danger. Like I would find out things about my beautiful, caring James I could never again ignore and what would that mean for me? For us?
I can’t believe I allowed myself to get wrapped in his allure so easily. Am I really so desperate for male validation, attention, that I can’t protect myself from men who always hurt me in the end?
Banging accompanies the relentless bell. “Sasha, open up.”
It’s Tara.
For some outlandish reason, I’m disappointed it’s not him. The look on his face last night. The pure devastation and pain. He tried to tell me. I think this was the complication that has always brought a similar expression to his face and I’ve stopped him from discussing it each time.
At least twice I stopped him. But that shouldn’t be on me. He should have told me. Goddammit. He shouldn’t have done what he did.
Behind the door, Tara exchanges less than kind words with my neighbor. I groan and shuffle through the room to open the door before she gets me into trouble.
“What the hell, Sasha? Larry is steaming that you didn’t show up today.” She pushes in. “I made up some shit about you locking yourself out and he gave me an hour to help you. I can’t even believe he was so understanding. Pull yourself together. You need to get to work now. Or can you afford to lose the job?”
Her words are like bullets, ricocheting off the walls and penetrating me with painful intensity. I don’t want to go to work. I want to stay home and wallow. Feel sorry for myself. Come to terms with the idea of life without James. It would be just like before him, only a few days ago.
Lonely. Desperate. Surviving.
I thought I was out of tears, but I was wrong. Tara takes one look at me and sighs, pulling me into an embrace. I’m not used to these kind gestures. Instead of composing myself—and I try—I bawl. Like an ugly cry, soaking her shirt with my tears and more. Poor Tara.
“Okay, girlfriend, enough of the sorrow fest. What’s going on here?” Leave it to Tara to moderate the embrace with tough love.
“James is my stalker.” I sniffle.
“Oh my God, that’s so fucking romantic,” she cries out.
“What? You were the one pointing out how dangerous it was.” I find a napkin and blow my nose.
“Yes, but that was when we didn’t know who your secret admirer was.” She looks at me like I’m deranged.
“Are you for real? He was lurking around for weeks.”
“Leaving you thoughtful gifts.”
I stare at her, unable to form a response.
“Not threats,” she continues, “not dead animals or blood offerings. Okay, I agree his way of pursuing you was unorthodox, but you can look at it as unique. You enjoyed the attention, didn’t you?”
I plop onto a chair. I enjoyed it until she pointed out it could be dangerous. I should have let him explain last night.
“I don’t know, Tara. It freaked me out, but maybe you’re right. Let’s go to work before Larry fires us both. I need time to process this shit.”
“Please do your figuring out without messing up orders or breaking dishes.” She pulls me to standing. “And take a shower before you venture out.”
We arrive at work welcomed by Larry’s stony stare. “This was the last time I let you get away with this shit. You’re damn lucky you showed up before the lunch rush.”
“I’m sorry, Larry, I promise it won’t happen again.” I grab a tray, wanting to disappear to bus the tables, but I turn to show my gratitude. “Thank you for letting Tara come to help me.” I don’t want her to get into trouble for lying to him.
“Well, it’s not like I had a choice,” he mumbles.
“Come on, you chose to be understanding and I appreciate it.” I smile at him.
“I didn’t choose. You don’t mess with people like your fucking boyfriend.” He shakes his head and goes to the kitchen.
What the hell? I follow him. “What do you mean?”
He stops to face me and shakes his head with closed eyes. “The man who waits here for you every evening. He used to work for the Da Bonnos, the crime family. For all I know, he still might. He came here after you applied and forced me to give you a job. Thank God you’ve turned out to be a half-decent server, so I can’t hold that against him.”
“James?”
“Yeah. He showed up this morning looking like shit and when he didn’t find you here, he warned me to make sure you’re okay.”
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand.
“It didn’t sound like a warning, more like a plea, but who knows with those people?”
The rest of my shift is the longest spread of time I’ve ever suffered through and I’ve experienced some shit in my life. It’s a roller coaster ride from disbelief to panic, from sadness back to incredulity, all underlined by a hefty dose of pain. I analyze, steam, regret, and feel sorry for myself all the while trying not to lose my job.
By the end of the shift, I settle on anger. It gives me enough fire not to feel sorry for myself.
It all amounts to nothing because, at the end of this ordeal, I miss him.
But I can’t be a doormat to another man. I can’t be manipulated. Not again.