Chapter Thirty-Two - Nadia
Logan just looks at me after Bric is gone. “Leave,” I say, walking out of the studio and searching for my coat in the living room. I grab my phone from the pocket, but Logan is right behind me.
“No,” he says, gripping my shoulder to make me turn. “I need to talk to you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months. And now that I’m here, I’m gonna have my—what are you doing?”
“You’re violating the restraining order. So I’m calling 911. You have two seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or I will press that last number.” I hold it up so he can see my screen, the big ol’ nine and one staring him in the face.
“Nadia,” he says, pleading.
“Get out.”
“I just want you to know—”
“Go. Away.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. Frowning. Watching me. Seeing me.
“Stop looking at me,” I say. “Stop it.”
He lowers his eyes and turns. But just as he’s about to twist the handle on the front door, he stops. “It wasn’t your fault, Nadia. It was my fault.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you do.”
And then he opens the door and walks out.
I let out a long breath of relief. I can’t do this again. I can’t. I won’t.
I want to run away. I want to get the fuck out of this apartment. This city. This life. But my legs—my whole body—is one big mess of exhaustion. What the hell just happened? I feel… wrecked.
The couch is calling me. I sink into the cushions and curl up into a little ball. The memories of what happened in New York—memories I had put behind me—all come flooding back.
Tears are running down my face and sobs are coming out my mouth in weird gasps.
Just close your eyes, Nadia. Close your eyes and sleep it off.
I will never sleep again. So I go to the bathroom, grab the bottle of sleeping pills, and gulp them down without water.
I surrender to the nothingness of sleep.
Pounding on my door wakes me. It’s morning, but early. Just a hint of dawn peeking though my living room curtains.
“Nadia!” Jordan is yelling in the hallway. “Open the door and let me in right now or I swear, I will call the police.”
I drag my aching body off the couch. My legs are so weak from last night’s… game… I stumble over a rug and fall to my knees.
“Nadia!” Jordan yells again, his fist pounding on my door. I scramble on my knees for a few feet, then get up and stumble across the room. “Open the fucking—”
I open the door before he finishes. “What the hell, Jordan?” I look down the hallway and see two neighbors peeking their heads out.
He pushes past me, huffing out air, slamming the door behind him. “I’ve been calling you all night. Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”
“I was sleeping,” I say, unable to think about last night. “I didn’t hear it. I don’t even know where my phone is.” I sort through the couch cushions and find it wedged between the seat and the back. Yup. He’s called me nine times.
“Sorry,” I say.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t fucking play with me, Nadia. Bric called me last night and told me the game was over. He won, you lost. His words exactly. Now tell me what the fuck happened?”
I shrug and slink down onto the couch, curling my legs up underneath me. “He won,” I say.
“I’m gonna need more details. Tell me exactly what happened. You brought him up here…” He waits for me to finish that sentence. But I don’t. “And then…” He walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Nadia—” He stops. “Why are you shaking?”
I don’t know. So I can’t tell him. But I am shaking. It could be from Bric making me stand en pointe at the wall last night. Or the mind fuck. Or both. I don’t know.
“Nadia, talk to me.” Jordan sits down on the couch next to me. “Tell me what happened.”
My eyes fill up with tears. They spill down my face before I can wipe them away.
“Nadia,” Jordan says. All his anger is gone now. There’s nothing left but concern. “Just tell me what happened.”
“He won.”
“How? How did he win? What did he do?”
But I can’t tell that story. Not even to myself, let alone Jordan. So I just shake my head.
He reaches for me, trying to put his arm around me, but I push him off and stand up. I try to cross the room without wincing. My legs… God, my legs. They are weak and rubbery, so I sit down in a chair before I fall.
“Go away,” I say. “I don’t want you here.”
“No,” Jordan says. “I need to know why you’re acting like this.”
I shake my head. “No. You don’t.” And then, because I really need him to leave, I look him in the eyes and say, “Get out of my apartment and don’t come back. I don’t ever want to see either of you again.”
“Nadia—”
“Out!” I yell it as loud as I can.
Jordan stares at me for a moment. Sighs. Stands. And does what I ask.
I stay in that chair all day. Until the light disappears on the other side of the curtains. I shiver. I don’t even get up to go to the bathroom. But I don’t have to, because I haven’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday morning.
My phone rings. Lots of times. Too many times to count.
Whoever is on the other end of that phone isn’t someone I want to talk to. It’s Jordan. Or Bric. Or Logan. I just need them all to go away.
And eventually they do. The ringing stops. I drag myself back into my bedroom, fall on top of the covers, and pass out in the dark.