Sin With Me

14

Cue the sound of screeching brakes.

“Marcus. Please tell me you’re not catching feelings for me.”

He blinks, the picture of innocence. “Feelings? What’re those?”

When I narrow my eyes, he sighs. “I like you, yes. I’ll admit that. We’re very similar people. We’re both focused on our careers, we both love s*x, neither one of us wants a relationship. And to be totally honest, I haven’t found that particular combo before. So I’m reluctant to give it up. That’s it.”

He pauses. His eyes search my face. “It’s your turn to talk now.”

“I’m trying to decide if you’re telling the truth or just telling me what you think I want to hear.”

His voice comes husky. “You’ve still got my c**k in your hands, Grace. Do you have any idea how hard it would be to come up with a convincing lie right now?”

I tip my head back, look at him from beneath my lashes, and lightly squeeze his erection. “As hard as this?”

He smiles. “Maybe not that hard.”

“I should take care of this before I leave,” I say, squeezing him again.

His voice is unsteady when he asks, “Are you trying to distract me so you don’t have to answer my question?”

I don’t bother with an answer. I simply sink to my knees, apply my mouth, and get on with the distraction that never fails to bring inconvenient conversations with men to an abrupt end.

The night is crystal clear and cold. I drive with the windows of my Lexus down, letting the icy wind sting my cheeks and whip my hair, sweep the cobwebs from my head. I take the long way home, avoiding the I-405 that’s always bumper-to-bumper, even at this late hour on a Sunday evening, and take the winding two-lane canyon road instead. It snakes through the Santa Monica Mountains, linking the inland valleys to the beach communities of Malibu and Pacific Palisades. It’s the longer route, even with the freeway traffic, but I need to be alone with my thoughts.

And, truth be told, I dread going to sleep.

The nightmares never really went away, but they’re much more frequent this time of year. In the weeks leading up to St. Patrick’s Day, they appear almost every night with relentless ferocity, violent ordeals of screams and c*****e that leave me shaking and sweating when I bolt upright in bed, staring wildly into the dark with my heart like a jackhammer inside my chest.

Nothing has cured them, not therapy or medication or time.

Everyone has their demons. Mine come out to play at night.

In the first months after the accident, the nightmares paralyzed me. It was like reliving the worst moment of your life over and over again, in surround sound and Technicolor. I slowly learned to accept them the way you accept that you have cancer. There was a lot of anger and denial at first, a lot of fear and bargaining, a desperate search for cures and answers that eventually yielded nothing but exhaustion and ultimately the realization that I was no longer in control.

Sleep was no longer my friend.

My own mind was a traitor to me.

Summer and fall are better. Quieter. The demons rest. But for me, the waning days of winter and the early days of spring are a living hell.

Pacific Coast Highway is gorgeous in the moonlight. The ocean is as black as ink, as restless as I feel. The traffic is light so I fly up the coast, listening to Nina Simone sing the blues in her raspy contralto. By the time I get to my building in Century City, it’s nearly midnight. I slow as I approach the high metal entry gate, and wave to the guard in the security booth.

“Evenin’, Miss Stanton,” he says, tipping his hat.

“Hi, Roy. How are you?”

He nods, smiling. “Better than I deserve. Have a good one, ma’am.” He waves me through.

In the portico, the valet takes my car. Inside the elegant lobby of glistening glass and marble, the night concierge murmurs hello. Avoiding my reflection in the mirrors that line the walls, I take the private elevator to my floor. The doors open to reveal my darkened condo and a spectacular view of the Los Angeles night skyline through the living room windows beyond.

I set my handbag on the console by the door and step out of my heels. I don’t turn on the lights. I stand there for a moment in the dark, watching the night sky, all the lights that sparkle like faraway diamonds.

I think of all the joy at the hospital today. All the love and warmth and happy tears.

Inside my living room, it’s as cold and silent as a tomb.

At times like this, my loneliness is so raw, so sharp and burning, I have to fight to breathe.