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I try to sit up against the weight of him, but he resists, bearing down on me, lowering himself between my legs, the size of him suddenly suffocating. “It’s probably Sienna,” I say, but he’s disinterested, his lips on my neck as he drives his hand under the lacy edge of my bra.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” he drones.
“Please. Let me just make sure.”
Ben’s sigh is audible and aggrieved. He drags his hand out from under my shirt, though he hesitates then, his strong arms on either side of my head, propping him up but at the same time, boxing me in. He watches me a minute before sitting up, before allowing me access to my phone, and in that moment I see a glimmer of the man I married, the one who is selfish, irritated and easily provoked. I can see in his eyes that he wants to tell me no, that Sienna can wait for us to finish before I read her text.
He pushes himself from the sofa, rising beside it.
“Where are you going?” I ask, pulling down on my shirt to fix it.
“Bathroom,” he says.
I wait for him to go before I reach for the phone, listening as the bathroom door closes and locks.
I glance down at my phone then, using my face to unlock it. I was right; the text is from Sienna, just two tiny, diminutive words.
I didn’t.
I draw my eyebrows together. I don’t know what she means at first. What didn’t she do?
I can hear Ben in the bathroom now. It won’t be long until he comes back and I don’t want him to be upset I’m still on the phone, and so I text quickly back, What didn’t you do?
In the next room, the toilet flushes. I hear the rush of water as it comes pouring out of the bathroom faucet and into the sink. In my hand, my phone vibrates again and I look back down, my stomach clenching at the words.
I didn’t text Dad.
My hand goes to my mouth.
Ben.
I think of what he just said: how he was dating Caitlin.
Was he a part of this? Did he help her pull it off? But why? To hurt me, to get back at me for the divorce?
I wonder if he told this woman private things about me, like how my sister’s death devastated me. Ben knows me so well. He knows everything about me. He knows I wouldn’t be quick to trust a stranger, to let a stranger into Sienna’s and my home, but an old friend was a safe bet, and an old friend in danger was a slam dunk.
Bile rises up inside of me as the thumb turn lock moves on the bathroom door. The sound of it subtle, slight.
Still, I draw in a sharp breath as I turn back to watch the door handle slowly spin. Ben pulls open the door. Light from the bathroom radiates out, his large, imposing frame filling the small doorway.
He turns off the light. All at once, the room behind him darkens, and I realize that there are only three units in this building and it’s possible no one but me is here tonight and that no would hear me if I screamed.
“Is she okay?” Ben asks, his head slanted, his arms at his sides. He crosses the room in three steps and, as if by instinct, I rise up from the sofa, stepping back and away from him.
Sienna didn’t text Ben. He came on his own.
Did he know that Caitlin was dead? Did he somehow know I killed her? But how?
“Meghan?” he asks.
“What?”
“I asked if Sienna is okay.”
What if they hadn’t broken up after all? What if they were still dating?
A little while ago he asked about my patient. He asked how old she was. He specifically said she.
