CHAPTER 2: TAKE ME THERE
1369 Words
Ella’s heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, but her steps weren’t guided by sight or direction, only by the storm cloud rumbling inside her head, making every moment seem unconscious and unintended.
She moved like a ghost, like someone not herself or possessed by disbelief, as her feet led her to the small, low-lit bar tucked away beside the hotel reception.
It was a quiet bar, maybe too quiet for the kind of rage that brewed in her chest. The soft rhythm of romantic tunes spilled from the speakers, and for a second, she thought of turning back.
How can the DJ play love songs? “Of all things! Wow!” she sighed, talking aloud to herself.
She didn’t belong here. Not tonight. Not after what she'd seen.
Yet, something about the cool air inside, thick with the scent of aged whiskey and recent heartbreak, pulled her deeper in.
A drink, she thought. She needed a drink. Anything to numb the sting of betrayal. Anything to take away he image of Prisca, naked and straddling Steve, someone Ella had once believed would never hurt her.
She had walked in on them in Room 201. No explanations. No remorse. Just skin, heat, and the unmistakable sound of lies unraveling.
The bar was warm, tastefully decorated, and cast in a soft amber glow that made every shadow look like it held a secret. Couples occupied booths in hushed conversation. Friends clinked glasses in the corners. Laughter fluttered through the room like smoke, but Ella felt completely alone.
For a moment, as she walked in, she thought all eyes were on her. Could they tell? Could they see the crack in her soul? But as the seconds stretched on, she realized nobody cared. Everyone was too busy drowning in their own stories.
She remembered something Chubby once told her: “Bars are just off-campus parties with better lighting and overpriced drinks.”
Not this bar. This place was quieter. More refined. The music matched the dim hue of the walls, slow, haunting, almost cinematic. It was beautiful. It was maddening.
Ella moved toward the counter, her shoulders stiff with unfamiliar tension. She’d never been one to drink. When Steve took her out, she always chose sweet, fruity wines, just enough to feel included. Tonight was different. Tonight wasn’t about feeling included. It was about erasing.
She waited until she was sure no one was watching before sliding into a stool. The bartender, a man with eyes that looked like he had seen too many sad girls, didn’t ask questions. Not right away.
She didn’t speak.
He did.
“I can give you something nice,” he said, polishing a glass, “or something that fits the kind of night you’re having.”
Ella didn’t hesitate. “Give me something that’ll make me forget you gave me anything.”
He studied her, really looked at her, and poured a drink. The amber liquid caught the light as it filled the glass, glowing like a promise. She stared at it for a moment before lifting it to her lips.
Room 201 flashed in her mind again. Prisca’s laugh. Steve’s wide, guilty eyes. The way he had stammered her name like it was a curse.
She took the first shot. Then another.
As the burn spread through her chest, she didn’t wince. She welcomed it. Finally, something that hurt more than her thoughts.
“Can I take something to my table?” she asked after a long pause.
“Something lighter or heavier?” the bartender asked, amused but gentle.
Ella gave him a crooked smile. “Do I look like I need something light?”
The bartender gave her a stronger cocktail in a low glass and slid it across to her without another word.
A few seats down, Mark Peterson swirled his whiskey. He had noticed her the moment she walked in. How couldn’t he? She moved like a lady on the edge, fragile but burning with something raw and unfiltered.
He had seen people drink for joy. He’d seen them drink for pain. But Ella? Ella looked like she was trying to obliterate a memory.
Mark had his own reasons for being there. He owned the hotel, one of several, and had stopped by to check the books, clear his head, and maybe unwind before taking up his guest lecturer role at Hall University. He hadn’t told anyone he was in town, not even his son, Steve.
He hadn’t seen him in nearly a year.
When the school invited him to teach for six months, he saw it as an opportunity. A quiet return. A possible reconciliation.
Now, here he was, sipping his whiskey, watching a girl fall apart.
Something about Ella drew him in. Not her beauty, though she was beautiful, but the kind of quiet devastation she tried to hide behind her drink. He knew that look. He had worn it once himself, years ago, when Steve’s mother walked out the door and never came back.
He noticed the tremble in her hand, the vacant stare she tried to mask. He watched her look his way, uncertain. Their eyes met.
Pain recognized pain.
Ella found herself walking toward him, pulled by something she couldn’t name. Maybe it was the way he looked at her without pity. Maybe it was the sense that he understood what was going on with her..
She hesitated a few feet away, her feet suddenly unsure, but Mark, feeling the rising curiosity of the others in the bar, stood up and offered his hand.
She took it without thinking.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice soft and raw.
“Not at all,” Mark replied, guiding her to the empty seat beside him.
Ella sat, her body finally relaxing into the leather cushions. There was something oddly comforting about him. He wasn’t trying to fix her. He wasn’t demanding to know her story. He was just there.
“You look like you could use some company,” Mark said, signaling to the bartender for another round.
“I could use a time machine,” Ella muttered, her lips curling with bitter amusement.
They talked.
At first, it was small talk. Ella didn’t share details. Mark didn’t pry. But gradually, stories unfolded. She told him about school, about expectations, about feeling like she had everything only to find out she had nothing. He told her about his career, the long nights, the estranged son he couldn’t quite reach.
Each word stripped away another layer of their defenses.
Mark found himself mesmerized by her mind, the clarity, the pain, the stint of something dangerous just beneath the surface. Ella, on the other hand, found an unexpected refuge in his presence. For the first time since Room 201, she felt like she wasn’t drowning.
But deep down, something darker stirred in her. Not grief. Not sadness. But Revenge
She leaned in close, her breath brushing against his ear.
“Take me to your room,” she whispered, her voice smooth, deliberate.
Mark froze. He turned to her, searching her eyes. “Are you sure?”
Ella nodded, her gaze unwavering. “I’m sure.”
For a brief second, he hesitated. This wasn’t how he did things. But Ella wasn’t just any girl, and this night wasn’t just any night.
He paid the tab. They left together.
The hallway was quiet as they walked side by side. Ella’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. Mark led her to the elevator and up to the penthouse suite.
Neither spoke.
Neither dared to admit what they were doing.
As the door shut behind them, Ella stood still, taking in the elegance of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Velvet curtains. A cityscape bathed in gold.
She turned to Mark.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?”
“For letting me feel like I’m not invisible.”
Mark stepped closer. He cupped her cheek, gentle but firm.
“You were never invisible.”
“Oh save the talk,” Ella replied, she was already tipsy.
Are you sure this is what you want?” Mark asked.
“I have never been this sure.” Ella said.
- Writer
