He’s not picking up. I hang up the phone for what feels like the millionth time since I started calling him a few days ago. The first time I called him was the night I got back from my Mom’s. I was upset over her approach to my writing and I needed to tell someone. I knew that if anyone understood, it would be Aiden. But he didn’t answer. At first, I didn't think it would be a big deal. I mean, maybe he was busy. But then I called him the following afternoon. I left messages both times and both times I didn’t get as much as a text. That night I also texted. The more time that passed, the more anxious I grew. I knew that I was annoying him. I knew that he was getting my calls. But I didn’t know why he wasn’t answering. And I couldn’t stand it. Why wasn’t he answering?

It has been a few days now and he still won’t answer. My worry and anxiety has slowly morphed into disappointment and anger. And a lot of questions started to creep in. Maybe he isn’t as okay with what happened back at the yacht. Yes, we made love - or rather, we had sex. But maybe that was all it was. Who the hell knows? Aiden is one person when he’s with me and another person when we’re apart. I mean, what do I really know about him? Maybe the person I spent my time with on the yacht isn’t really him at all. Or maybe it’s just a version of him. I mean, aren’t we all just versions of ourselves and it’s up to us who we choose to become in a particular circumstance?

With all of these thoughts swirling in my head, I find it incredibly difficult to write. As opposed to before, when words just spilled out of me, probably powered by the muse which Aiden has inspired, now I can’t write a single word. All of my thoughts concentrate on Aiden and his whereabouts, and I can’t distract myself even for a second to think about my characters and their petty problems.

And it’s with all of this on my mind that I find myself wandering the streets of New York this afternoon going nowhere in particular. The weather turns cold with the wind slicing in between the tall buildings, funneling through the narrow streets. I regret not grabbing a hat before I left, but I honestly thought that the days were still going to stay warm for a bit longer. After walking mindlessly around a bookstore, leafing through a few books, but picking up none of them, I find myself in front of Aiden’s building. I can’t believe that I walked all this way lost in my own thoughts, but it’s as if my feet carried me here all on their own. Without even my consent.

The doorman remembers me and calls up to Aiden’s apartment. I hear Aiden answer and barely make out his muffled words. The only thing I do know for sure is that he isn’t entirely excited to see me. His voice sounds detached and somewhat confused.

The doorman calls the elevator for me and I ride up by myself. I look at my own reflection in the mirrored elevator and ask myself what the hell am I doing here? I mean, this guy isn't taking my calls. Why the hell am I here confronting him? He has the right to never call me again. This is New York. People don't owe each other much, even if they have had a few nights of glorious sex together.

I knock on his door. A few moments pass without an answer. Suddenly, it occurs to me that my humiliation might not have any bounds. What if, after all this, he doesn’t answer the door? I mean, he didn’t answer my calls, so this wouldn’t be that out of bounds. Shit. I stand in the hallway and wait. How long should I wait? I probably shouldn’t wait long, but I want to see him. My arm lifts up without my explicit consent and knocks on his door again. This time, more forcefully. Stop it, Ellie. I say to myself. What the hell are you doing? Why are you harassing him? I don't have an answer to that except that I need an explanation. We had such a good time. He really opened up to me. And I opened up to him. So, why is this happening after all this time? He can’t tell me that I had just imagined all of that. No. I won't believe it.

When I’m about to turn away, the door swings open. The man who faces me is Aiden. But he’s also not the Aiden I saw only a few days ago. His hair is all out of place. He is dressed in an old t-shirt and a pair of ragged shorts. His barefoot feet look out of place on the fabulous, newly polished floor.

Holding a bottle of scotch in one hand, he offers it to me. I turn him down immediately, he shrugs and takes a swig. His eyes look sunken in, and his skin has lost all of its luster. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. All of my anger with him dissipates at the sight of him and is quickly replaced by worry.

“Aiden?” I whisper.

He waves me inside. I follow him down the hallway, very well aware of the fact that he isn’t stable on his feet. Aiden can’t walk in a straight line and even trips over thin air near the kitchen counter.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, louder this time and more forcefully.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “What could be wrong?”

He downs another gulp of the scotch before I pull the bottle away from him.

“Hey, if you’re not going to drink that, I don't see why you have to take it,” he says slowly. His words are forced. They require too much thought. He’s clearly very, very drunk.

“What happened?” I ask. I know that he’s very inebriated, but I also want to find out why before he passes out completely. One thing is for sure, he’s not drinking anymore tonight.

Aiden makes his way slowly to the living room, wavering from side to side. There are a few moments when I’m sure that he is about to fall and crack his head open, but somehow he catches himself in time and steadies himself.

After plopping down on the couch, he flips on the television.

“Aiden, what’s wrong?” I sit down next to him, taking his hand in mine. “I don't want to watch TV right now. We need to talk about this.”

Raising his arm slowly and with great effort, he points his index finger at the screen. I turn to look. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

There’s a panel of four talking heads and they’re all forcefully and with great glee discussing the downfall of Owl. One suggests that there may be a way to recover. But the other ones just keep bringing up the fact that the company lost over a billion dollars within a span of one day and no one has ever recovered from that kind of fall before.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. I don't really know what else to say. I rarely put on cable news and I never watch CNBC. I had no idea any of this was going on.

“Aiden?” I turn to him. He slouches down on the couch and closes his eyes. His arm is over his eyes.

“But how is this happening?” I ask. He shrugs, but says nothing.

I can tell that he has already had way too much to drink. Asking him any more questions tonight will be a rather futile exercise. Instead, I pull him up to his feet and walk him to his bedroom. His feet drag on the floor and I feel like I’m going to drop him at any moment. But somehow, with great struggle, we eventually make it there. I pull open the covers, sit him down on the bed, and then lift his legs up to the mattress. At first, he struggles a bit, but quickly gives up. I pull the covers over him and adjust his pillow a bit. His eyes are closed by the time I turn off the light on the nightstand.

I head back to the living room and sit down on the couch. The television is still on and the talking heads continue to argue. I listen for a while, completely at a loss as to what to do. How the hell did this happen? I keep asking myself. The talking heads also wonder about all the things that could’ve gone wrong, but they keep coming back to one thing. Blake Garrison, Owl’s biggest investor, had pulled out. There are rumors that he called other investors who he got in on the deal to pull out with him.

“So, what does Garrison know that we don't know about the inner workings at Owl?” one of the suits on TV asks.

“He knows that something very bad is going on at Owl. Maybe something that SEC even needs to investigate,” the other one says.

The SEC? I want to scream at the television. Are you fucking kidding me? You want to know why Garrison pulled out? Because Aiden Black caught him almost raping a helpless woman on his yacht and Blake was embarrassed. It has nothing to do with Owl at all. Of course, I know that no one on TV knows any of this. And beyond that even, I don't know if they should know.

I get up and pace around the room. Perhaps, they should know. Maybe I need to come out and say something. Maybe I even need to hire a lawyer. Then they wouldn’t be blaming Owl. And maybe that can stop some of the bleeding. At least, get some of the investors to stick around. But if I come out with any of this, then I have to tell everyone everything. I would have to go on the record about the auction and the Daily Post would have a field day with me - a nice girl with an Ivy League education putting myself up on a sex auction. Shit. My thoughts swirl around in my head, going back and forth between ideas. One minute, I’m convinced that I need to go on CNBC and set the record straight and another minute, I want to wait it out.

There is one thing that I’m sure about. I can’t do anything rash tonight. I have to wait until Aiden sobers up. I need his input. I mean, all of this is about his company, his yacht, and his party. I’m not sure how open he would be to the whole idea of the fact that he auctions off girls to the highest bidder. That isn’t exactly fodder for better stock prices.

I take a deep breath and lie down on the couch. It’s so big and wide and comfortable that it pulls me into a little cocoon. I turn off the television and put in my earphones. I turn on one of my favorite playlists on Spotify and let it lull me to sleep. Within a few minutes, I curl up in between the big, overstuffed pillows and the world doesn’t seem so dark and gloomy anymore. Maybe everything will be okay after all, I decide. And even if it won’t, at least I don't have to worry about it much anymore. I can’t change anything tonight anyway.

One of my favorite songs comes on. It’s a violin cover of “A Thousand Years.” I listen to its slow progression and how deliberately it builds with each bit. I don't know anything about music or how it works, I just enjoy it. My eyelids start to feel very heavy and I quickly fall into a deep sleep.