I let her go, back to that asshole and I’ll never see her again. What does that say about me? Not much, except I paid her. I paid for her to give herself to me willingly, to submit to all my desires and she did, even creating her own. Maybe that makes me as bad as him.
As soon as I finish beating the shit out of the bag I hit the locker room. My shower is quick and I soon find myself sitting back in my car wondering where I’m going now. I can’t go home because my place smells like Macey. It needs to be cleaned thoroughly, and whatever clothes she didn’t take completely disposed of. I want no trace of her whatsoever in my house. It’ll be as if she doesn’t exist.
Hours go by as I drive aimlessly around town. Lamar texted around lunch, informing me that she had left, and I told him I wanted all trace of her gone from my apartment. The call came minutes ago letting me know the coast is clear.
Except when I step into the elevator, I can smell her. Even though I’ve showered, her scent lingers on my fingers. As soon as I open the door to my place, the quiet overcomes me and I find my mouth opening to call her name. I don’t understand my reaction. This was a business agreement and now it’s over. She was paid pussy and nothing more.
I flop onto my bed, my phone falling out onto the floor. Rolling over to get it, I spot a piece of paper under the bed, on her . . . the other side. I scramble over there to get it, hoping it’s her number to that old phone she carries around. But it’s not. It’s a photo of a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes, a smaller version of Macey. I flip it over and my heart drops.
Morgan, age 9
17
Macey
“Do you want to talk about it?”
The elderly lady next to me hands me a tissue. I kindly take it and offer her as much of a smile as I can muster. I knew leaving was going to be hard, but I didn’t think my heart would break as much as it is. I can barely take a full breath without having to gasp for more air due to the pain I’m experiencing in my chest. It didn’t hurt this much when I found myself pregnant and alone.
“Vegas is always hard,” she tells me. “You aren’t the first woman to cry on a flight leaving this city.”
“I’m sure,” I mutter, resting my head on the window. I cried harder when I heard the door to the apartment shut, but I expected Finn to come back and say goodbye. When Lamar showed up I knew he was there to take me to the airport and that my final moment with Finn had been lost forever. I played it out over and over in my head. Finn would drive me and he’d park curbside. He’d help me out of the car and we’d stand there with an awkward but familiar silence between us. It’s then that he’d kiss me. That he’d finally kiss me after a week of dancing around each other.
Instead, I was met with an exit that mirrored my arrival. Lamar carried my bag to a waiting car and we rode in silence to the airport. The only difference was that I was dressed this time. He wasn’t seeing my pert nipples through the flimsy robe or getting an eyeful of my crotch. Today I wore jeans and a sweater to keep me warm on the flight.
“Do you love him?”
“Yeah.” The answer is automatic and without reservation. Finn, as complicated as he is, is easy to fall in love with. I know why Brandy said there’s a line waiting for a ring, and while some of it may be because of his status in Vegas, most of it is because deep down he’s a sensitive soul. He took care of me when I needed someone to, when I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own. Finn was there, no questions asked. He never asked me why I was in Vegas or what I needed the money for. He only offered to help by replacing the money I lost in his casino. He didn’t need to. I could’ve told him everything but I didn’t, and that weighs heavily on my shoulders.
“If you love him, why are you on the plane? You should get off and fight for him.”
I half smile and wish I could heed her advice, but it’s not that simple. With a slight shake of my head, I say, “He doesn’t love me and he never will. We’re two different people, leading two different lives.”