Control
391 Words
11:59PM. Executive floor.
My heart was in my throat the whole elevator ride up.
Room 402.
His door was open. Just a crack.
Light spilling into the hallway.
“Damien?” My voice barely worked.
No answer.
I pushed it open an inch.
Empty.
Bed made. Blinds open to the ocean. His blazer on the chair.
But no him.
“Mr. Cole?”
The balcony door slid.
He was outside. Back to me. Shirt off.
I should’ve left.
I stepped in instead. “Your door was open.”
He didn’t turn. “I told you not to follow me, Ava.”
“I know.”
The air was heavy. Salt. Whiskey. Him.
“You’re drunk,” I said.
“Not enough,” he answered.
He turned then.
No shirt. Water on his shoulders from the shower he must’ve taken. Hair damp. Eyes clearer than they should’ve been.
He looked at me. Really looked. From my face to my thin sleep shirt.
Then back up. Fast.
“Go back to 403,” he said. Voice rough. “Now.”
I didn’t move.
“Ava.” My name sounded like a warning.
“Why?” I asked. “If it’s wrong, tell me why you said it. Why you held my hand. Why you said my name like that on the balcony.”
He took a step toward me. Stopped himself.
“Because I’m tired,” he said. “Of pretending you don’t affect me.”
Another step. Closer.
“But I’m your boss,” he said. “And if I touch you, I can’t take it back. And you’ll hate me for it in the morning.”
“I won’t,” I whispered.
His jaw clenched. He was fighting himself.
“Go,” he said again. But he didn’t look away.
The ocean crashed below us.
I took one step forward.
He didn’t step back.
We were a foot apart.
His hand lifted. Like he was going to touch my face.
Then he dropped it.
“Room 403, Ava,” he said. Quiet. Final.
This time, I listened.
I turned. Walked out.
I made it 3 doors down before I heard it.
The balcony door sliding shut. Hard.
*Note to Self: He didn’t touch me. That was harder than if he had.*
*Note to Self #2: The door was open on purpose.*
- Writer
