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Cade will be our last fuck.
Lorraine’s too close to me not to sense my destruction. She glances my way, clocks my gaze, and knows instantly.
“Excuse me, folks.” She grabs my elbow. “This lady needs a little night air.”
We go in the opposite direction outside, and I can’t see. Lorraine tugs my arm while my logic is a maze. Turn left, and I hate Cade and left again, and I hate seeing her with another man. Turn right, and I can never forgive her, and back left because I want her to be happy.
I’m so lost. I miss her, but I can never touch her again.
Every fucking hour I think about Cade, us, and what she did. She didn’t fix a thing. She made it worse. TJ still violates us and will until the day we die because we can’t be together now.
That dark river or a bottle of Absolut? Gimme one to drown in.
“Talk to me.” Lorraine pulls us to the deck railing where no ears are around. “You look like you saw a ghost, but that’s her, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Light sparkles on the night current of the Savannah River. It’s tempting, but the cool breeze gives me a needed breath while sending shivers down Lorraine’s arms. I drape my jacket over her shoulders. “You need to quit saving me.”
“You need to tell me what happened.”
Though more than a foot shorter than me, Lorraine’s like my big sister and won’t back down.
“You know about what happened to me.”
My story, I’m starting to share it with no names, not even Cade’s. But sharing about my secret scar and assault heals me and helps others. But Lorraine knows everything, all but this last part, and I trust her with my life.
“Cade, she”—every time I imagine it, disbelief floods me—“she got rid of the man who did it.”
Lorraine’s right eyebrow shoots up, but she doesn’t say a word.
“And I feel so guilty I want to drink.”
“Guilt for what?”
“That a man—no matter that he deserved it—he died because of me. And I feel guilty because Cade did it because my relapse pushed her over the edge, and now it’s haunting her too, even if she’ll never admit it. I want to forgive her, but I can’t because it was wrong… for everyone.”
“Sounds like ‘wrong’ is the wrong word.” She reads my confusion and explains, “Wrong implies there was ever going to be right in this situation. And too many people were hurt—you, her, and other victims. Nothing was ever going to make that right again.”
“So what would you call it?”
“Desperate.”
“Like she had no choice?”
“Did she?”
The black water captures my stare while I try to imagine another way. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll come around one day, what y’all need to heal. Just be open to it.” She rubs my back. “You okay?”
“I’ll be alright.”
“You sure?”
She, like everyone, even me, worries I’ll relapse. “I promise.” I rub her shivering shoulders. “Enough of my bullshit, let’s get you back inside to yours.”
Lorraine goes to the bar, and I know it’s to make sure my next drink is another seltzer. But my sobriety feels strong tonight. Though my heart doesn’t. And I gotta piss like a racehorse, so I weave through the crowd for relief. Taking the stairs two at a time, I climb to the next level for the men’s room. My eyes are down, steps turning for the next half flight, when high heels fill my vision.
Black Louboutins.
