I can barely open my eyes. I see something glowing beside me, but it's fuzzy, blurry. I rub my right eye, open it, and squeeze closed my left. It's a clock. It's 4am. Where the hell am I?
Oh shit. Oh shit, you have to be kidding...
I pick my head up and look around the room. I'm still here, in the hotel room. It's very, very quiet. I turn my head to look at the person right beside me and... he's not there. I get up, rub my eyes again and stumble to open the bathroom door. Nothing, no one. Christian is gone.
I put my back to the wall and slide down it until my ass is sitting on the floor. What the fuck did I do? What the fuck did
we
do? He's getting married tomorrow. Shit.
I get my stuff together, find no note in the room and no messages on my phone. The bill is paid at the counter, so I leave and walk the seven blocks back to Penn station in these fucking heels. I get on the train to Bayshore and feel sick; too much wine. Too much fucking an almost married man. Too much kissing the man that I...
Too much.
He said love. He said he loves me, he said that's what's been wrong with him. He loves me and wants to be with me. Where is he?
I get off the train and into my car and drive to the ferries that'll take me over to Fire Island. Where the wedding is. Where I'm staying at a friend's summerhouse while these festivities take place.
It's early June, and the weather today is slightly cooler than the rest of the week has been. I stare at the water for the whole ride, thinking about almost nothing except how water and boats do nothing for hangovers or guilt. Finally we're at Atlantique. I get inside the house, find my beautiful border collie Reef well taken care of, sit outside with him for a half an hour, then lie down and sleep.
By the time I wake up, it's mid-afternoon. The sun is shining, the air is perfect and I can hear the waves crashing just down the walkway. I'm supposed to be at Matthew's Restaurant in twenty minutes for the rehearsal dinner; it's in Ocean Beach fifteen minutes away. I don't care. I ruffle through the bag I had my friend Jessica drop off for me and pull out some shorts, a sports bra, a t-shirt and some socks. I drink a glass of water, and find my running shoes on the floor near the door. I see a note that Jessica left me saying how she'd see me on the mainland in a few days. I have the house to myself.
I grab Reef's leash, and throw it over my shoulder; he doesn't need it, but just incase I get stopped it'd be better to have it. We walk out the door to the beach and start jogging. He stays right beside me. I feel better and better with each step, and can feel my legs working extra hard in the sand. Reef just trots along, running through the water, running in circles around me, and all I do is laugh. By the time I make it to Ocean Beach, I feel great. I'm thoroughly exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.
I turn around and begin the jog back, and start walking when I'm a little out from the edge of Atlantique again. I take my shirt, shoes and socks off and jump in the water real quick to cool down. I'm just getting out of the water when Reef takes off running to the house. I start yelling and running after him, hastily grabbing my stuff off the beach. I get up towards the house and can't hear him anymore; I start to panic. I round the corner of the house and see Reef. Jumping. On Christian.
I stand there, speechless. It takes a minute for him to look up, and takes even longer for his gaze to make it to my eyes. I'm half naked and soaking wet. He smiles, looking almost like he's smiling despite himself. He looks restrained.
"I thought I should see you before the restaurant. I didn't want to leave it to chance, how I would react to seeing you," he grimaces. "And I wanted to see if you actually made it. If you decided to come at all."
"I'm here," I say, "I came."
"I see that."
I stand there staring at him. I can feel the wind begin to move and shudder from the chill. I'm mortified to feel my nipples start to tighten, standing in my sports bra, so close to being exposed. I cross my arms.
"Why don't we go inside," I begin to say, "or do you have to go? It's late, you should be at the restaurant already."
"My Aunt Mary's flight got in late. Everyone's just hanging out at Matthew's, the party isn't really starting now until four." He shuffles his feet, shifts his gaze. "I can stay for a bit."
I move past him, calling for Reef, and open the door. I tell Christian to head upstairs, that I'd be up in a second. I walk to the end of the hallway and go into my room. I'm about to take my sports bra off when I feel him looking at me.
"Excuse me," I say, the discomfort in my voice obvious to both of us.
"What? You weren't so modest last night," he chuckles.
"Not funny," I respond. "We were drunk. We weren't thinking clearly."
"Really?" he asks.
I stare at him.
"Really," he sighs.
He backs out into the hallway; I can hear his flip-flops on the stairs.
I pull my sports bra off and throw on a t-shirt. And a sweatshirt. Just to be safe.
I evaluate myself in the mirror. Of all times and places, after all the running on beaches and jumping in oceans I've done in my life, this is the time he chooses to show up and see me in the aftermath. The night after fucking, the night before getting married to another woman. It's slightly humorous. Slightly.
I leave myself as is.
I get upstairs to the kitchen where he's sitting at a stool against the counter and see that he's helped himself to a beer. He's got a second one in his hand that he opens and hands to me. I take it and barely mumble a thank you.
"Bells..." he starts saying.
I laugh. Bells is what my grandfather had shortened my nickname to when I was a teenager. From Bella to Bells. Only a grandfather would shorten a short nickname. Only a grandfather would give you a nickname that had no relation to your real one. Only Christian knew why I was called that.
"Bells, stop. You look miserable."
I glance up at him.
"Stop it, don't do that. I don't want to see you like this. Let's talk..."
"About what?" I say. "Let's talk about what? About last night? About me, about you? Your fiancΓ©e? Or the party for the two of you that I now have," I look at the clock "officially twenty-four minutes to get ready for?"
He looks down at the floor. I can see that he's squeezing his beer.
"There's nothing to talk about, Chris," I say. "Just go. I'll see you at Matthew's."