“You’ve seemed down in the dumps the last few days,” Layla says, sitting beside me at the desk. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Just had a crazy family session on Saturday. That’s it, really. Same shit, different day.” I sigh, pushing away from the desk and grabbing a stack of books that need to be checked back in. “I don’t know why I still let her get to me after all these years.”

“Because you care,” Layla says, putting her arm around my shoulder. “And that’s okay, because that’s who you are, Harper.” She forces me to put down the stack of books and look at her. “You’ve always cared. Even when things were at rock bottom, you still cared. Don’t feel bad about that. But it might be time to tell yourself you’ve done enough...that it’s okay to let go.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding and swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over. Ever since my blow up at Sadie and my talk with Luke at the coffee shop, my emotions have been raw. I feel like my nerves are shot. A part of me thinks I should skip a week of therapy and let the dust settle, but the other part wants to see Luke...and my mom, if I’m being completely honest. “I think that’s part of why I’ve felt so shitty. After the session last week and seeing how unresponsive Sadie was, it made me realize that this might not work. She may never be healthy or sober. And even though she’s always been a junkie, I’ve always had hope she’d be something different someday...and now that hope is dying.”

Layla pulls me into a tight embrace and holds me there as a few tears escape. When a couple walks into the library, she pulls back, and we go back to pretending we’re working. “You know what you need?” she asks quietly.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, kind of scared of what her solution to my problems might be. Layla is known to be a fixer, but her methods are often unorthodox.

“A girls’ night out.”

“No strip clubs,” I tell her, scanning a book and putting it on the stack.

“Fine. But drinks. Lots of them.”

“Fine.”

“And I’m buying, so you can’t be a party pooper and claim that you don’t have money or whatever. You’re staying out until I say you can go home.”

“Fine.”

At times like these, it’s easier to agree with Layla. Besides, I could use some girl time, anything to take my mind off my current reality...and my fantasy. One, I don’t want and would gladly give away, and the other, I can’t have and would do anything to get.

My life is a charmed one, for sure.

§

At a bar with Mia and Layla a few hours later, I’m already two drinks in and beginning to feel the welcomed numbness, helping me forget about everything that’s wrong in my life right now. Mia’s phone rings, and she presses it up to her ear, covering the mouthpiece and speaking loudly.

“Hey, baby!” she coos into the phone.

Layla and I groan in unison. Mia and Kyle are disgustingly sweet to one another when they’re sober, but when they’re drunk, they’re vomit-inducing.

Mia continues to speak in a tipsy slur to Kyle over the phone while Layla orders us all another round of drinks.

“Do we want boys?” Mia asks loudly over the crowded bar, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.

Layla looks at me, and my expression must say it all. “No boys,” Layla commands just as the waitress shows back up with a tray of fruity drinks.

Mia hangs up after professing her love and everything she’s going to do to Kyle when she gets home and then levels me with a stare. “Okay, what’s up with you and banker boy?”

“He’s on my last nerve. That’s what,” I say, the liquor helping me speak the truth. “He will not take no for an answer.”

“What do you mean?” Layla asks, leaning forward to hear better.

“I told him I just want to be friends, but he keeps coming around. Like last Saturday, he showed up at my building and claimed he was in the neighborhood.” Rolling my eyes, I take another long pull from my glass. “We all know he wasn’t in my neighborhood.”

“He likes you,” Mia says, sitting her half-empty glass on the table. “What’s so bad about that? He’s cute. You should at least get an orgasm out of him before you kick him to the curb.”

Expelling a frustrated breath, I shake my head. “I don’t like him like that.”

“At all?” Mia’s nose is scrunched in confusion.

“No,” I reply firmly, chugging some more of my drink. If I’m going to keep having this kind of conversation—about Wyatt and feelings and non-feelings, I’m going to need to maintain my buzz.

“Are you seeing someone else?” she asks, obviously confused as to why I wouldn’t be into dating Wyatt, but also using heavy emphasis on the word seeing, which makes me think of Luke, causing me to choke on my drink.

“No,” I say weakly and undoubtedly unconvincing.

“You are seeing someone,” Mia says with a gasp, slapping the table.

“Who is he?” Layla asks almost simultaneously, practically climbing onto the table to get closer.

“I’m not seeing anybody. I mean, I’ve had coffee with somebody, but…” I trail off as they both squeal in delight. Rolling my eyes, I try to hide my smile behind my glass because I’m dying to tell them about Luke. I just don’t know what to say...how much of the truth to tell.

“Spill,” Mia demands as she motions for our waitress to come back to our table, ordering some shots.

“He’s just a guy that I…” I struggle with how to explain him—who he is and how we met. “I met him at the rehab facility.” I decide to go with that because it seems like the most logical, sane thing to say. A few more drinks, and I might be telling them the whole sordid story, but for now, we’ll stick with this version.

“Is he a patient?” Layla asks, cocking her head. I can see her getting ready to go into protective mom mode.

“No, he works there.”

“A doctor?” Mia asks.

“A therapist.” Do I tell them he’s my mom’s therapist? That suddenly sounds wrong. I haven’t let myself think about it very much, but now, getting ready to tell them, it sounds like a conflict of interest. Maybe I should make up something…

“Sadie’s therapist?” Layla eyes me.

“Yeah.”

“You naughty girl,” Mia chides teasingly. “Banging your mom’s therapist.”

“I’m not banging him.” My cheeks flush. The mere mention of Luke banging anyone fills my mind with a million images, and all of them make me feel hot and bothered.

“Tell us about him,” Mia says as the waitress shows up with our round of shots. “But first…” She sets one of the shot glasses down in front of me. “Shots.” She sets another down in front of Layla. “Then, we want all the dirty details.”

On Mia’s count, we toss them back, and I know I’m going to regret this tomorrow.

§

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay going home by yourself?” Kyle asks me as he guides a very drunk Mia into the waiting taxi.

I slide into my own taxi and nod my head, giggling. “I’ll be fine. He’ll drop me off right in front of my door. Wontchoo, Mr. Taxi Driver?” I ask, falling into the seat and pulling my legs in. They feel heavy. My whole body feels heavy.

Kyle leans into the window and directs the taxi driver on where to take me, but I could’ve done that myself. I’m not that drunk. Tipsy, yes. But I can hold my own.

“Call me if you need anything,” Kyle instructs before tapping the side of the car, signaling for the driver to go.

The car takes off, and the passing lights and buildings make me feel a little dizzy. The fact we make abrupt stops doesn’t help. Even at this time of night, there are still idiots on the road, but there are always idiots on the road in the city. I would never drive here.

Public transportation all the way.

I fist-bump the air.

Okay, maybe I am that drunk.

Pressing my cheek against the cool glass, I welcome the relief to my flushed face. Drinking makes me hot. Luke makes me hot. I wonder what he’s doing. I wonder if he invited someone to his apartment...to his window. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. I almost call for the driver to stop, but then I look up and see we’re almost to my building.

And then I see him.

Not the him I want to see. The other him.

And then I realize what time it is and that he has no business being in front of my building.

And then I realize Mr. Chan is gone for the night.

“Keep driving,” I yell to the man driving.

“I was instructed to drop you here, Miss, and to watch you go into your building before leaving.”

“I’ll pay you double to keep driving.” My heart speeds up as the taxi slows down. “Please,” I beg. I don’t know where this sudden rush of fear has come from, but I do know I don’t want to face Wyatt tonight.

“Where to?” the guy asks.

“Two blocks up. You can let me out there.”

I want to get away from Wyatt. He can’t wait there forever...right? I pull out my phone, and I don’t have any missed calls or texts. So it’s not like he’s here to check on me after I didn’t reply. I don’t think Kyle would’ve sent him. Would he? My phone buzzes, and a text from Mia pops up on my screen.

“Here ya go,” the driver says as he pulls up to the curb.

“Thanks,” I tell him, handing him extra money through the window.

When I step out onto the sidewalk, I realize exactly where I am. His tall building looms over me. I look to the right and know there’s nothing down there that’s open this late. I guess I could go to the church I followed Luke to, but that feels too creepy. I look to my left and think about walking to the corner to see if Wyatt is still standing there, but that feels unsafe. I don’t want him to see me. What if he ran after me? I’m not very fast.

Would Wyatt hurt me?

I’ve never felt like he would, but something about him waiting for me tonight makes my skin crawl.

What if Luke comes home and I’m standing in front of his building? What would I say then? Oh, hey...What a coincidence?

So not a fucking coincidence.

I groan loudly and plop myself down on the steps leading up to Luke’s building. Pulling my phone out, I check the text from Mia.

Mia: Wanted to make sure you made it home safely.

I think about asking her about Wyatt but then feel stupid. So, I lie.

Me: Yes, thanks. I had fun tonight.

Looking down toward the corner, I see someone walking this way, and my breath catches in my throat. Standing up, I press myself into the side of the building, hoping I can blend in with the brick. I look one more time, just to make sure I’m not crazy or hallucinating, but my fears are confirmed.

Wyatt is now walking down the sidewalk, coming toward me. Even though he’s still a block down, I know it’s him, and I don’t know where to go or what to do. If I start walking, he’ll probably see me. And I still have no clue where I’d go.

An older man walks up the steps and completely ignores the fact that I’m pressed against the building like a lunatic. He enters his code for the building and walks in. Just before the door latches shut, I stick my foot in the crack and wait for a second, taking quick panting breaths and freaking out about what I’m getting ready to do.

The second I’m inside the building, I realize I’ve passed a threshold. There’s no going back. I press the button for the elevator as I keep a watch on the door leading back outside. I expect Wyatt to see me in here and bang on the door or something, but fortunately, the elevator door opens before that can happen. Quickly, I run into the elevator and press the button for the door to close.

After a few deep breaths, I press the button for the fourth floor.

What the hell am I doing?

I almost start crying from the insane turn this night has taken, but I will myself to keep it together. This is going to be bad enough without me blubbering like an idiot.

When I step out into the hall, I lean against the wall and inhale.

I should walk out of here the same way I walked in. I’m sure Wyatt is gone by now.

Or he could be waiting for me downstairs.

Oh, God

When I hear a door opening at the end of the hall, I try to act normal, like I know where I’m going. I visualize the building from my apartment and think about the location of the window I’ve watched so many times. I know that it has to be the third or fourth door to my left, but which one? How embarrassing would it be to pick the wrong door? How humiliating will it be to pick the right one?

I walk toward the end of the hall and hesitate in front of the fourth door. When I hear the people walking down the hall get into the elevator behind me, I press my ear to the door, but I can’t hear anything or anyone.

What will I do if I find Luke’s apartment and he’s not alone? Do I have a right to be hurt? Mad? I know I would be. It would crush me. I’m not sure how Luke feels about me, but I’m slowly going from lusting over him to being completely in...like with him. I really really like him.

I should leave. This is bad.

Soft music plays through the next door down, and I wonder if, by chance, that could be Luke’s. I never see him watching television. I’m not even sure if he has one, but who’s to say he doesn’t listen to music? I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been watching.

Lauryn Hill’s distinct voice filters through the door. I know the Fugees. My old next-door neighbor was obsessed with ‘90s hip hop.

My knuckles brush against the cool metal door, and then I tap once. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll walk away and pretend like I was never here.

But then the door opens.

“Harper?” Luke’s voice is a mixture of confusion and concern. “What are you doing here?”

He’s standing there in those damn gray sweatpants. My mouth drops open, and words fail me.

“Harper?” Luke asks again, his hand reaching out to me but stopping before he touches me.

“I was going home, but then there was this guy...” I begin but trail off, because how do I tell him about Wyatt? This is going to sound crazy. Who am I kidding? I am crazy. What the fuck am I doing here? I turn away from him and stare down the hall at the elevator. “Anyway, I just ended up here without even thinking, really...I...I should go.”

“How did you know where I live?” he asks.

And there it is.

I swallow thickly, wishing beyond anything I’d just gone home. I could be sitting in my window, watching him now instead of getting ready to tell him what I know will be a game changer...a deal breaker. Facing Wyatt would’ve been better than this. “I watch you.”

“You watch me? What do you mean?” he asks, opening the door wider, one palm against the wall and the other against the door, his perfect body filling the space.

“From my window,” I whisper, not wanting to tell him, not wanting this to end, and afraid it will after this truth is told. “I’ve been watching you for a while, even before I knew you. I saw you in your window...with the women.” I look past him, staring longingly at the window behind him. It’s so weird seeing it from this side. It’s so weird feeling like I know so much about him and this apartment. My fantasy and my reality are colliding, and I don’t know what the hell is going to happen.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his beautiful features scrunched together in confusion.

I wring my fingers nervously and fight the urge to run away. “I have some...binoculars. They were in my apartment when I moved in,” I admit. “I can see inside your apartment when I use them,” I tell him, pointing to the window. This can’t be a complete surprise. He must know people are capable of watching the things he does in that window.

The moment he realizes exactly what I’m talking about is obvious. His expression changes from confusion to surprise. Indecision is all over his face as he fights his own internal war, and I wonder what’s getting ready to win out.

Luke takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and his palms squeeze into fists. His nostrils flare before he speaks quietly. “You need to leave.”

“What?” I ask, hoping I didn’t hear him correctly.

“Go, Harper. You need to go. Now. This isn’t good. We shouldn’t be doing...whatever this is.” He hesitates, then squeezes his eyes shut again, looking as if he’s in pain. “I’m sorry, but you have to leave.”

My shoulders slump, and my breath leaves me because I see the finality on his face. This is over. Whatever this is, it’s no more. I just ruined it. Actually, it was ruined before it ever started. I ruined it the day I watched. I ruined it when I didn’t tell him the moment I met him that I knew him. I knew him in a way only the women he fucked against his window knew him. I should’ve told him sooner.

I turn to walk back to the elevator and hear the door shut forcefully behind me. Tears fill my eyes as I step inside, and I let the doors close before sliding down the wall and onto the floor. I sit there for a few minutes before I crawl over to the panel and push the button for the first floor.

Pulling myself up, I step off the elevator and back out onto the street, needing the solace of my small apartment. With my head tucked down and my bag hugged tightly to my body, I walk the two short blocks, not even pausing for the crosswalks. I’d let a car take me out at this point, anything to end this burning in my chest...the regret, the embarrassment, the self-loathing.

“Where have you been?” a voice out of the darkness says harshly, causing me to flinch and stiffen.

My head snaps up as Wyatt pushes off the side of the building.

“What are you doing here?” It’s not lost on me that I’m now asking Wyatt the same question Luke asked me only minutes ago.

“I’ve been waiting.”

“Why?” I ask, my hackles rising and my voice following suit. “Why, Wyatt?”

“Kyle said you were out with the girls, drinking and having a good time, and I thought—”

“You thought what?” I yell, not caring if all the crack dealers in the vicinity hear me. “You thought you’d come over here and see if you could get lucky?” I push around him and head for the door to my building, digging in my bag for my key and kicking myself for letting my guard down and not being prepared.

My dad didn’t raise a weakling. He taught me how to take care of myself. The fear I felt earlier quickly turns to rage. Maybe it’s the fact that I feel like my life is royally fucked, but I have a sudden need to punch something or kick something.

Wyatt’s hand on my arm is my last straw for the night. I spin around, and my knee makes contact with his dick.

“You bitch!” He groans and falls to his knees, cupping what I’m sure are his less than average-sized balls.

“Don’t call me again. Don’t text me again. Don’t ask about me,” I demand and then push the key into the lock and walk inside, making sure it closes behind me. I don’t turn around. He can rot on the sidewalk for all I care. Taking the steps two at a time, I make my way to my apartment.

When I’m inside, I finally let all of the tears fall. I don’t turn a light on. I don’t go to the window. I don’t even change out of my clothes. I don’t ask why me, because I know I brought this all on myself. I also don’t try to figure a way out, because quite frankly, I’m exhausted.