Chapter Two
745 Words
REALITY
The sunlight hit her like a spotlight, unforgiving and sharp. Tamara blinked against it as she stepped out of the hotel’s glass doors, still wearing the same dress from the night before, her heels in one hand, and a headache pounding in her temples. The morning city felt unfamiliar too loud, too fast, too… real.
She had no idea what time it was. No idea who the man was. No number, no note, not even a full name, just Jay. Only the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin, and the way he looked at her like he’d already undressed her long before she said yes. She couldn’t believe she’d actually slept with a stranger. That wasn’t her. Or maybe it was her now, the version of her that New York City had shaped, a little impulsive, a little lonely, and maybe just tired of being careful.
Her Uber ride was silent. She stared out the window, the scenes of New York blurring by like a fast-forwarded memory she couldn’t pause.
Back at the apartment, Tiffany was still asleep on the couch, half-covered in a blanket, makeup smudged and phone buzzing quietly beside her. Tamara tiptoed past, locked herself in the bathroom, and stared at her reflection.
Her curls were wild, her lipstick faded and smeared at the edges. There was a tiny bruise on her shoulder — a bite mark maybe? She couldn’t remember. She barely remembered anything except the way he looked at her. Those intense, searching eyes. That deep voice that called her “baby” like they’d known each other for longer than a few hours.
She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would wash away the heat rising to her cheeks not from embarrassment, but from the memory. The icy splash did little to calm her. The memory clung like perfume, faint but lingering.
His eyes.
His hands.
The way he smirked just before everything went blurry.
Tamara sighed.
She gripped the sink, trying to steady her breathing.
She wasn’t a prude. She liked to have fun. But this? This was reckless, and it didn’t sit well with her not because she regretted it entirely, but because she had no answers. No closure.
What the hell did I do? ...It was just one night. No one needed to know.
After a long, hot shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed beside her but she ignored it.
Eventually, she got dressed hoodie, leggings, and fuzzy socks and shuffled into the kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the apartment now, strong and comforting.
Tiffany was up, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a mug in hand. Her eyeliner was smudged, and her hair was in a messy bun, but her eyes lit up the moment she saw Tamara.
“Well, well, well,” she said, smirking. “The runaway bride returns.”
Tamara groaned and walked straight to the coffee maker. “Please, not this morning.”
“Oh, but I have to,” Tiffany teased, following her into the kitchen. “You ditched me. Didn’t answer your phone. Came back looking like a movie scene. Don’t even try to pretend nothing happened.”
Tamara sipped her coffee in silence.
Tiffany leaned in. “So? Who was he?”
Tamara sighed. “Some guy. He said his name was Jay. We met at the bar.”
“Jay? Just Jay? No last name?”
“Nope. Nothing. He left before I woke up.”
Tiffany gasped dramatically. “You had a mysterious, hot one-night stand and didn’t even get his number? That’s so unlike you.”
“I know,” Tamara said quietly. “It just… happened.”
There was a brief pause. Tiffany softened.
“Are you okay?”
Tamara nodded. “I’m fine. Just… confused.”
“You liked him?” Tiffany asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”
Tiffany sat on the counter, swinging her legs. “Look, maybe it’s good. Maybe you needed something wild. I mean, you’ve been so… I don’t know, locked up lately.”
Tamara gave a small smile. “That’s one way to put it.”
They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. The TV played faintly in the background, some morning talk show that neither of them was really listening to.
- Writer
