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There was peace, as if a bell had just stopped ringing in my brain.
There was a contact number in case we stayed in Vegas longer than I expected.
There was joy. As if this was the thing I had been missing rather than the thing I had gone to Cole St. Martin to overcome.
The joy lasted a few more minutes.
And then there was Cole, right there in the ladies room where I had been so sure he couldn't come. Cole and his minions.
And my new friend who had sold me the fet.
I watched as he paid her. I watched as he kissed her and sent her on her way with a swat on the ass that made her laugh.
I watched as he came toward me, his bodyguards following, his hands up to explain to the startled ladies in the ladies room that, all apologies, ma'am, we'll be out of here in just a second but he had to take care of his girl.
His girl.
His girl.
I wanted to tell everybody who I really was. Who I really wasn't. But my mouth wouldn't work and neither would my limbs. I was leaden and trapped inside my body in a way I never had been before when I used.
In a way that allowed them to scoop me up and carry me tenderly to the waiting wheelchair.
And take me up to the room.
And dismiss the wheelchair and all offers of medics, ambulances. Help.
And Cole St. Martin and I were alone together again.
