him, feel his hands on me. His mouth on me. I heard his laugh. I was there with Hansel, after ten long years of wanting nothing more than him. How could I forget that? How could I want to?
I…fuck, I don’t know. Can I say I love him? Is that insane? It’s been ten years, plus the soul-sucking experience of Monday afternoon, and still…I want him with both mind and body.
I reach onto the table beside me, grab a chocolate-covered strawberry, and pop it into my mouth. I eat a few more while I stare out at the hazy Vegas sunset, streaking in between the billboards and buildings.
I’ve been sitting out here almost all day and night since leaving The Forest Monday evening. Sitting out here, trying to tell myself to close this door. Cut my losses and go home.
He didn’t know I was me, but if he had? I’ve got no reason to assume he’d care. I’ve got every reason to assume he wouldn’t want to see me at all, given an option. Or if he did, he wouldn’t want more than a ten minute hi-how-are-ya. He wouldn’t see the two of us as having anything in common anymore. I don’t know for sure, of course, but that’s what I think would happen.
So here I sit, stuffing my face and avoiding the thought that I’m leaving tomorrow. Avoiding the extreme….the extreme disappointment , I think as tears start to flow.
I was right there with him, and I didn’t play it right. I couldn’t make him want to keep me there.
I dreamed of that for years, and it was…wrong. So wrong. So disturbing, with the decorations like the ones at Mother’s house; the way he wanted me to hurt him. Maybe the worst part is, it makes me wonder about… fuck! I start to sob.
Why did he want me to do those things? What does he need with a…submissive woman? Why isn’t he married?
Why aren’t you , my conscience whispers.
He should be happy. He shouldn’t be lonely. He seemed lonely.
I should have talked to him—as me.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
It might have.
Go back, then.
But I can’t.
I know I can’t. It’s one thing to be rejected when he didn’t know who he was rejecting, but if he looked at me like that, knowing I’m Leah…
I just know I couldn’t handle it. I’d be looking for pills before I even made it to the airport.
I dash inside and throw myself on my bed, where I hug my pillow and cry hysterically until I fall asleep.
When I wake, it’s ten o’clock. I feel no better. Only quieter. More resigned. More disillusioned.
The heavy questions bump through my head, making themselves known to me in loud whispers despite my refusal to acknowledge them.
This is the end of the story for Hansel? This is his happily ever after?
What did you expect, Leah? Where is yours?
But I’m me, and my failings and my longings are not news. His are.
I get into the bath and dump a mountain of bath crystals atop my legs, and sit there in the hot water until the room stinks so strongly of lavender, I worry I might puke.
Then I dress for a night out.
Where am I going? I have no idea. I promise myself as I ride the elevator from my room on the eighth floor down to the lobby that I’m not looking for pills. I don’t need an oxy or a Xanax or anything else small and swallowable to get through the next fifteen hours. Alcohol should do just fine.
The elevator spits me out in one of the massive corridors, an extra-wide hallway with three-story ceilings, two-story artwork, dozens of outrageously themed alcoves, hundreds of little, name-brand storefronts, and so many tourists I can barely see the sparkling marble floor.
It’s hopping tonight—not as busy as the weekend, but still alarmingly crowded. I push my body through the throng, aiming for one of the help desks. When I get there, I ask a younger guy in a uniform for advice on a good bar inside the casino. If I’m getting smashed, I probably shouldn’t branch out far.
“What kind of bar?” He looks me over in a way I’m pretty sure he thinks is discreet, but is actually
I…fuck, I don’t know. Can I say I love him? Is that insane? It’s been ten years, plus the soul-sucking experience of Monday afternoon, and still…I want him with both mind and body.
I reach onto the table beside me, grab a chocolate-covered strawberry, and pop it into my mouth. I eat a few more while I stare out at the hazy Vegas sunset, streaking in between the billboards and buildings.
I’ve been sitting out here almost all day and night since leaving The Forest Monday evening. Sitting out here, trying to tell myself to close this door. Cut my losses and go home.
He didn’t know I was me, but if he had? I’ve got no reason to assume he’d care. I’ve got every reason to assume he wouldn’t want to see me at all, given an option. Or if he did, he wouldn’t want more than a ten minute hi-how-are-ya. He wouldn’t see the two of us as having anything in common anymore. I don’t know for sure, of course, but that’s what I think would happen.
So here I sit, stuffing my face and avoiding the thought that I’m leaving tomorrow. Avoiding the extreme….the extreme disappointment , I think as tears start to flow.
I was right there with him, and I didn’t play it right. I couldn’t make him want to keep me there.
I dreamed of that for years, and it was…wrong. So wrong. So disturbing, with the decorations like the ones at Mother’s house; the way he wanted me to hurt him. Maybe the worst part is, it makes me wonder about… fuck! I start to sob.
Why did he want me to do those things? What does he need with a…submissive woman? Why isn’t he married?
Why aren’t you , my conscience whispers.
He should be happy. He shouldn’t be lonely. He seemed lonely.
I should have talked to him—as me.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
It might have.
Go back, then.
But I can’t.
I know I can’t. It’s one thing to be rejected when he didn’t know who he was rejecting, but if he looked at me like that, knowing I’m Leah…
I just know I couldn’t handle it. I’d be looking for pills before I even made it to the airport.
I dash inside and throw myself on my bed, where I hug my pillow and cry hysterically until I fall asleep.
When I wake, it’s ten o’clock. I feel no better. Only quieter. More resigned. More disillusioned.
The heavy questions bump through my head, making themselves known to me in loud whispers despite my refusal to acknowledge them.
This is the end of the story for Hansel? This is his happily ever after?
What did you expect, Leah? Where is yours?
But I’m me, and my failings and my longings are not news. His are.
I get into the bath and dump a mountain of bath crystals atop my legs, and sit there in the hot water until the room stinks so strongly of lavender, I worry I might puke.
Then I dress for a night out.
Where am I going? I have no idea. I promise myself as I ride the elevator from my room on the eighth floor down to the lobby that I’m not looking for pills. I don’t need an oxy or a Xanax or anything else small and swallowable to get through the next fifteen hours. Alcohol should do just fine.
The elevator spits me out in one of the massive corridors, an extra-wide hallway with three-story ceilings, two-story artwork, dozens of outrageously themed alcoves, hundreds of little, name-brand storefronts, and so many tourists I can barely see the sparkling marble floor.
It’s hopping tonight—not as busy as the weekend, but still alarmingly crowded. I push my body through the throng, aiming for one of the help desks. When I get there, I ask a younger guy in a uniform for advice on a good bar inside the casino. If I’m getting smashed, I probably shouldn’t branch out far.
“What kind of bar?” He looks me over in a way I’m pretty sure he thinks is discreet, but is actually
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