The front door opens slowly. I can just hear it over the sound of the shower. Fuck. I'm still here. I should go. I should go, but I can't bring myself to move out of my position.
Footsteps move a little closer. It must be Luke. Who else could it be? Did I lock the bathroom door? Does it matter? My purse and shoes are in the living room. He knows I'm here.
The bathroom door opens and Luke steps inside. I hug my knees a little tighter and bury my head between them.
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“I was hoping you'd at least be naked,” he says. He walks over to me and turns the faucet until the water stops. I don't look up.
“Come on, Alyssa, that was funny.”
I shake my head.
“You want to tell me what you're doing here?” he asks, and I squeeze my legs a little tighter. How long have I been here?
Luke tries to take my hand, but it's too wet for him to get a grip. He steps into the tub, his jeans soaking up water, and tries again. But, still, I don't help him. I should help him. I should let him pull me to my feet, but that means I have to slink back to Ryan's apartment. That means I'll be out of here and back to my life.
He sits next to me with the slightest plop. I feel his arms around me, his hands pressing into my back, but still, he can't get a grip. I lean a little closer, resting my head against his chest. I release my vice grip on my legs and slide my arm around his waist. I know I shouldn't do this. But he's here, and all I want is to be here with him.
Luke doesn't resist me. He allows me to sink deeper into his chest, even sliding his arm around me. We stay like that for a minute, and, slowly, I come out of my daze. I came here without thinking. I binged and purged without thinking.
I let Luke go without thinking.
“I suppose this isn't the time to talk you out of your clothes,” he says. “But I'm guessing you don't want to wear those out.”
He offers his hand again, and, this time, I take it. He steps out of the bathtub, and I follow him. We both leave wet footprints as our soaked clothes drip onto the floor. Without asking or telling me, Luke steps into his bedroom and changes out of his jeans and T-shirt. He sits on his bed, in his boxers, the room dark except for a few highlights on his skin.
It's dark outside. I must have been here a while.
“What are you doing here, Alyssa?” he asks.
“Isn't that obvious?”
He shakes his head and rummages through his drawers. He throws me a T-shirt. “Here,” he says, “you shouldn't sit around in wet clothing. Though I don't know how you'll explain this to Ryan.”
Luke tries not to show his hurt, but he says Ryan's name with such vitriol. The pain is there in his big, brown eyes. What else could I expect? It's barely been 24 hours since I was too weak to make up my mind, too pathetic to leave Ryan, too afraid to try to survive on my own.
“I'll figure something out,” I say. I turn towards the door and drag my wet heels across the floor. What the fuck will I figure out? Is there any reasonable explanation for coming home with wet clothing?
His gaze turns towards me. He sees the carton of ice cream on the counter, the last remnants of it a melted mess. He nods as if everything is finally clicking into place.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks. He picks up the T-shirt and moves closer to me. He's still in his boxers. It doesn't mean anything. We're done with all that. He's done with me.
“I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.”
He offers the T-shirt again, but I don't take it. “Come on, Alyssa, I can't send you home in wet clothes.”
“Cause that's less suspicious than wearing nothing but your T-shirt?”
“I'm sure he's figured it out by now,” Luke says.
“He has.”
“And?”
“What do you care?” I ask. “You broke up with me yesterday, or did you forget that?”
He runs his hands through his hair. It's usually sexy. Well, it's still sexy, but it's so much more anguished than usual. Can't we be together? Just one more time? Just 15 more minutes where I don't have to face how royally I've fucked this up?