not

ht crack something open that I am barely holding together. My pride reaches for anger, for some sharp remark that might let me leave this room with a piece of myself still intact. That i

, clean and white and unreal. "Go on," he says. His voi

y solved. I hate the calm certainty on his face. I hate that he believes this night confirms something he decided long ago. Worst of all,

st more than the rest. I close my fingers around the check. The paper is stiff and smooth, absurdly light for something that carries this much weigh

ure. It is not relief. It is colder than both, a quiet moment of certainty, as if a final piece ha

s the space because he wants to see the cost up close. "All right

es that mean," I ask. My vo

hen you took my money," he says. His eyes

ps hard enough that I feel it in my throat. I l

but the words never g

would think. Now I want to see how far you will go to support that image." His gaze

d crease it. I could refuse. I could tear it up and throw it at him. I could tell him to keep his money an

an tonight. He kn

My feet feel unsteady when I finally move, but I move anyway. I step closer until the space between us disappea

o live in clean rooms and private flights. My fingers hesitate for a fraction of a second before I slide th

ever leave

the chair

that refuses to die. When I turn back

e tie,"

e knot already loose. I focus on my hands because his eyes feel like too much. Muscle memory takes over, cruel and famil

e and hold it longer than I should.

bar,"

whiskey glass. The amber liquid glows

gain, his express

shirt,"