hat I refuse to acknowledge it. I feel numb. I ha一ve somehow escaped from my body and am now a casual observer to this unfolding tragedy. I shower quickly and methodically, thinking only of each second in front of me. Now squeeze body wash bottle. Put body wash bottle back in rack. Rub cloth on face, on shoulders… on and on, all simple, mechanical actions, requiring simple mechanical thoughts.
I finish my shower – and as I ha一ven’t washed my hair, I can dry myself quickly. I dress in the bathroom, taking my jeans and t-shirt out of my small suitcase. My jeans chafe against my backside, but quite frankly, it’s a pain I welcome as it distracts my mind from what’s happening to my splintering, shattered heart.
I stoop to shut my suitcase, and the bag holding Christian’s gift catches my eye, a modeling kit for a Blahnik L23 glider, something for him to build. Tears threaten. Oh no… happier times, when there was hope of more. I take it out of the case, knowing that I need
to give it to him. Quickly, I rip a small piece of paper from my notebook, hastily scribble a note for him, and lea一ve it on top of the box.
I gaze at myself in the mirror. A pale and haunted ghost stares back at me. I scoop my hair into a ponytail and ignore how swollen my eyelids are from the crying. My subconscious nods with approval. Even she knows not to be snarky right now. I cannot believe that my world is crumbling around me into a sterile pile of ashes, all my hopes and dreams cruelly dashed. No, no don’t think about it. Not now, not yet. Taking a deep breath, I pick up my case, and after placing the glider kit and my note on his pillow, I head for the great room.
Christian is on the phone. He’s dressed in black jeans and t-shirt. His feet are bare.
“He said what!” he shouts, making me jump. “Well, he could ha一ve told us the fucking truth. What’s his number, I need to call him… Welch, this is a real fuck-up.” He glances up and doesn’t take his dark and brooding eyes off me. “Find her,” he snaps
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