Ash pushes her long blonde hair out of her eyes. "But don't let yourself get too close," she says quietly. "Just in case."
I sigh. "Thanks for the concern, but I trust him. I really do." I look away. "He isn't going to hurt me," I add in a voice that is so quiet it doesn't even feel like mine.
"That's good. All I'm saying is to be careful, okay? I'm your friend, Crystal, whether you like it or not. I don't want to see you get hurt. Or worse..." She trails off.
There's a long pause after that. We both just sit there, on the sofa, listening to the sound of the TV in front of us playing reality shows or whatever, but somehow it feels far-off. I can only think of Sebastian, his touch, the gruff tenderness in his voice as he calls me his angel. I think about what it would be like if we went all the way, if rule number one never existed and whatever is keeping him from fucking me could be gone, and he could be inside of me, really inside of me. It wouldn't be my first time having sex--I've had a lot of hookups in the last two years, but they've never succeeded in getting rid of the raw ache in the pit of my stomach. But Sebastian… Sebastian feels so right, that I can't even imagine him not making the ache go away, the everything but each other disappear.
I'm infatuated with a man I don't even know, and whether I like it or not, he's all I really have left in this world.
"Do you ever wonder about him? About who he really is?" Ash asks for a minute. Her voice is quiet, curious.
I don't hesitate. "Yes," I say, meeting her gaze. "Always."
"And what if you… what if you did know?" She narrows her eyes at me. "Would that make you feel better about this whole thing? I know it would make me feel better."
I pause. Would it really help? I'm fine with not knowing, fine with our perfect setup, but sometimes I think one night a week is not enough. I need Sebastian more than that. I need the real him. And I need him everywhere, all the time. I want to know who he is, I really do. He's the first bright spot in my life since the murder, and maybe I do need to find out more about who he is. He means to me what dancing used to. He's an escape, something that makes my heart beat faster and my body and mind and heart feel connected, something beautiful and heart wrenching and elegant and inexplicable. Something that never fails to cure me. "Yes," I say. "It would help."
A small smile flickers across her lips. "Good. Because I have an idea."
I frown. "Yes?"
The smile expands into a broad, toothy grin. "What if one night, when you leave the hotel in the morning… what if I follow him for you?"
The blood in my head starts pounding. "What?" I say, almost angry.
Her grin grows into a full-on beam. "Like the shit they do in movies. I'll follow him. See where he goes. Find out who he is. He doesn't know me, so he wouldn't even notice, or be able to connect me back to you."
"This isn't a good idea," I say, shaking my head. My stomach is throbbing now. "No, no, no," I say again, more defiantly. "This isn't going to end well."
"C'mon," Ash says. "What's the harm?"
"He seems dangerous," I say. "And we don't know what he'd do if--"
She cuts me off. "You said yourself he wouldn't hurt you, right?"
"Yes," I say slowly. My hand has started trembling. This is a bad idea. Bad. Bad bad bad. Every part of me knows it then, every inch of my mind, every bit of what's left of my sanity. I don't know who Sebastian is. I know he won't hurt me, but he could be dangerous to others. He could hurt Ash if he catches her. Or worse.
But a small part of me, a really stupid, small part of me, is too curious. I want to know who this man is. I want to know the person behind the Sebastian who makes my heart flutter and my insides feel mine again. I want to know who the man who has brought me back into reality is, and I want to understand him, to be with him, to really be with him.
"So he has no reason to hurt me, either," Ash says proudly, like she already knows she's won.
"But--" I protest.
"No buts. This is happening. Unless you tell me you honestly don't want to know who he is right this second. But you want to know," she says, inching closer to me, her smile growing. "Right?"
I drop my head into my lap, defeated. "Yes," I whisper, hating myself for it.
"Good," Ash says, standing up. "We'll plan this later." Then she starts walking out of the room, leaving me in nothing but silence and cool air and the hum of the TV in front of me. My stomach hurts and I want nothing more than to run after her and tell her no, let's not do this, but a part of me knows she's right. I want to know who Sebastian is too much. I want him too much. So I just sit there, shaking, like a pathetic waste of space just as I'd done after I learned my parents had been shot.
"I really think this is a bad idea," I finally whisper out, but she's already gone.
If only I'd listened to my instincts.
The next week is painfully slow. I spend my days going to my job at Starbucks, talking to Ash, eating, sleeping, and then repeating it all over again.
That's what my life has become: a never-ending repetition. I'm just living to get over the next day, and then the next day, and then the next day, until it's Wednesday and I'm with Sebastian again. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him to look forward to. I don't know how I'd manage to keep going.
So as the week goes on, all I can think about is Sebastian and when I get to see him again. I think about what he's going to do for me next time, what he's going to say, how he's going to alleviate the pain in my heart that hasn't left since my parents died and I lost my one true passion in dance. I wonder how he's going to touch me, kiss me, hold me. I wonder what he's going to say. And then, just like that, I wonder about his laugh. He doesn't laugh much, which is unfortunate, because when he does, it's the most beautiful sound in the world. All thick and masculine, but genuine too. Warm, almost. Sebastian isn't exactly a warm person, but his laugh is. It's like his laugh doesn't even belong to him, or maybe it's a window, a look into a warm and scared and tortured soul he's kept hidden for so long that maybe he doesn't even remember it exists. I don't know. But one thing is for sure: his life has been worse than just losing his parents. I know, from the hurt that never seems to leave his eyes, that he's been through a lot. I know he wants to love me, wants to fix me like I want to fix him, but he can't.
I just know these things about Sebastian. I don't know why or how.
The rest of the week drags on until finally, it's Wednesday night. I wear a black dress as I enter Hotel de Galaxias, and my heart pounds as soon as I step inside. Music sounds throughout the lobby, and well-dressed business people laugh and dance and sing, happy in their own little worlds. I keep my head down like always, and I walk all the way up to room 364 in my heels, knock twice, and then enter when a deep voice coos, "Come in, my angel."
I smile as soon as I lock eyes on Sebastian. The room is bright this time, all of the overhead lights turned on, and I can make out everything about Sebastian tonight. I notice the way he runs his hand through his wavy dark hair, notice the little dimples at the corners of his mouth, notice the deep tan on his skin from years of… whatever job he does. He smiles when he sees me in the ball gown I decided to wear, adjusts his suit, and steps forward. He touches a finger to the skin beneath my lips slowly, softly, and then he leans in and kisses me. His kiss is slow and meaningful. My lips feel hot and electric, and my body buzzes with the same energy I get whenever Sebastian touches me.
"You came," he whispers as soon as he pulls back, but his lips hover there, in front of mine, as if begging to be kissed more.
I resist the urge to wrap my arms around him and kiss him harder, fiercer. Sebastian has this way of teasing me, nipping at my lips and chest and skin and leaving me wanting so much more. He says it's his way of keeping me on my toes, and holy hell does it work. All I can think about is the next moment we're kissing, or touching, or our clothes are off and he goes inside of me.