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I barely eat, nervous and crazy to get away because that’s who I am.
After a few sips of coffee, my confidence goes down rapidly. I’m on my feet, thinking about getting out of here really quickly, when she intercepts my path and hands me an envelope.
The handwriting is the same as the note, so I guess it must be from Xander, but just to confirm, I ask her.
“Mr. Christos, you mean.”
“No. Xander Megalos, your boss, right?”
“No one calls him that, only by his full name: Christos Xander Megalos Lykaios. The whole world only knows him as Christos Lykaios,” she says, frowning and looking at me with even more contempt, probably because I don’t even know the name of the man I slept with.
But I’m no longer worried about what she thinks of me; I’m worried about what I’ve discovered.
“Christos Lykaios. Christos Lykaios. Christos Lykaios...” I repeat over and over as I leave the kitchen.
It can’t be! Oh my God! Life wouldn’t be so cruel.
I walk into the bedroom, too horrified to believe it’s true. To distract myself from my despair, I open the envelope. Inside, there’s money and another note.
I thought you might need it.
I start to shake. Is he paying me for our night of sex?
This just confirms that what I discovered is true. I slept with the same despicable human who destroyed Pauline’s life.
Stunned, I google his name.
Yes, it’s him: Christos Lykaios, Massachusetts College graduate, the same place where the accident took place. He’s the one who ruined my best friend’s future.
A man cruel enough to offer me payment for a night of sex, even though he knew I was a virgin before we slept together.
I put my things in my suitcase and leave the apartment without even bothering to say goodbye to the maid. Instead, I leave a note on the bed, not because I think he deserves it but to make sure I don’t ever see him again.
Few words but easy to understand.
Don’t look for me. What happened between us was a mistake I will regret for the rest of my days.
Just like him, I don’t say goodbye.
He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve anything.
I’m in line waiting to get on the plane when I see a woman staring at me intensely.
Even though I’m shy, I have a gentle nature, and if people try to talk to me, I politely answer them. Today, however, I just want to be alone.
I haven’t cried yet, but my heart is broken. The guilt eats at me like acid.
So, when she takes a few steps closer, I seriously consider dodging, but I’m not rude.
“Hi, how are you?” she greets, and my first thought is that she must be confusing me with someone.
“Hi,” I say, forcing myself to be polite.
“Are you a model?”
“What?” Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them.
“I’m asking if you’ve ever worked as a model,” she says, smiling, but then she shakes her head. “Excuse me, I’m being rude. My name is Bia Ramos; I’m a scout at an agency, and out of habit, I’m always looking for new faces. You’re perfect.”
