Going back to my apartment was unthinkable. The air there was infested with memories, each one now reeking of disappointment and betrayal. I wanted somewhere clean, impersonal, where I would cry without pictures on the table reminding me of the moment I was played or the sofa recalling the nights I thought were all passion and love.
I scanned the street and spotted Sinclair Hotel. It seemed so distant, perhaps a bubble away from what I felt. Couples who were probably in deep love and others who will understand years later that they were equally played.
My legs were rooted to the spot as I stared intensely at the building, a monument of grandeur and relentless ambition. Wait a minute, I can even book a room there for the night.
The solution should have brought relief. Instead, a deeper cold settled in my bones. My mind was still catching up to the sheer, desperate audacity of it. I had a long, sleepless night ahead, and I seemed to have found the perfect moaning ground. Shivers ran down my spine from the heartbreak I was feeling, was going to feel, and all the memories I knew would all rush back that night.
I went back to the car and drove to the SinclairHotel. I walked to the reservation, praying internally that there would be free rooms.
"Good evening. Do you have any rooms available tonight?" The coldness in my voice even surprised me. I was indeed heartbroken.
"Good evening. Yes, we do"
My heart skipped a beat, yay, and as I answered the rest of the questions, I knew I wouldn't be crying again over Alex after this night. This night's dedication was moving on.
Walking into the room was a humiliation ritual. Everything was pristine, spotless, uncontaminated. The very air felt sterilized. And then there was me, a walking contamination of heartbreak, my beautiful dress a testament to an aborted date. I dropped my bag on the bed and as I sat down, tears came rushing down. I silenced myself for a minute before I ordered champagne.
And then I cried, the tears came in raindrops and rivers, I thought I would sleep, but even sleep seemed to have given me the night for moving on. Incapable of sleeping, maybe it was the heartbreak, but the pristine state of the room didn't help, absurd right? Given that that was what I sought.
I poured a glass of champagne and moved to the rooftop. I sank onto a cold bench, pulling my knees to my chest. A full-body shiver wracked me as I set the glass down. It looked absurdly delicate against the concrete.
My gaze dropped to my joined hands, and I started crying again, not for the breakup. But for being played, for being delusional, I thought providing excuses for his behaviours was the ultimate proof of love, and it was going to keep us together. Unfortunately, I was fooling myself.
I was so engrossed that I didn't hear footsteps. I just saw a tall silhouette, the darkness of his curls matching his suit. His handsome face held not a trace of emotion. I diverted my gaze, and bizarrely, he standing there didn't stop me from crying; in fact, he was as distant as the days with Alex.
The last champagne drop seemed to be a full stop. I wiped my face and stared at the city. The silence was absolute, interrupted only by the sound of the wind blowing. I shivered continuously but was unwilling to go back to my room. One such wind blew and knocked my champagne flute over, and it rolled toward the stranger. He stooped, picked it, and approached me slowly.
I thought he was going to hand it over to me but no instead he removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulder
"The cold out here is more honest than the air conditioning downstairs. But it'll ruin your skin"
I held the jacket, the warmth of which I didn't even think was essential.
My voice when it came was raw "Honesty is the only thing I need right now"
"Most people come here to feel above it all. You look like you came to feel nothing"
I smiled
"Is it working?"
He locks his gaze with mine
"No but it's at least a better attempt than most"
Silence
"The nothing you're looking for isn't out here. All you need is a closed door, a space where the world can't get in for a few hours"
He pulled out a room key card and laid it on the desk between us.
"I have that downstairs. You can have the bedroom, I'll have the study or you can leave"
I looked from the card to his face; he was a stranger yet I just wanted to follow him. At least I wanted it, and whatever might follow, I have convinced myself with lies for years, shoved it down my own throat. I stood up and cleared my throat
"Lead the way"
The silence in the elevator was heavy, suffocating.
As I stepped inside, a hysterical thought bubbled up: It's a penthouse. Of course. Are you a trafficker? If so, which prestigious variety? My heartbreak seemed to be suddenly miles away; it had been for a few minutes already.
He walked to the minibar. "Water or tea?"
I said nothing and walked to the ceiling-to-floor window. I let out a heavy sigh; I was beginning to feel relieved. He poured two glasses of water and came and stood near me, just an arm's length away.