REINA

The door slammed shut behind me with a violence I didn’t know I had in me. The sound echoed through the empty hallway like a gunshot, sharp and final, and I pressed my back to the wood as if I could physically hold the night outside. My chest heaved. My palms were slick with sweat. My nails had dug half moons into the meat of my hands so deep I could feel the sting now, belated and distant, like pain happening to someone else.

I held my breath.

Listened.

The low growl of his engine started, idled for a heartbeat, then faded down the street. Gone. Just like that. The silence that followed was worse than the sound of him leaving. It pressed in from every side, thick and suffocating, settling into the corners of the apartment like smoke.

I slid down the door until my ass hit the floor. Knees to my chest. Robe gaping open at the front. I didn’t bother closing it. What was the point? He had already seen everything. Touched everything. Ruined everything.

My lip was bleeding. I had bitten it too hard in the car. The copper taste coated my tongue, but I didn’t wipe it away. I let it bleed. Let it hurt. Physical pain was easier than this twisting, burning thing in my chest that had no name and no right to exist.

We weren’t together.

We had never been together.

I had said it myself, earlier that day, standing in the kitchen with sunlight slanting across the counter while he made coffee like we were normal people. Just sex. No strings. No promises. We agreed.

I had drawn the line in the sand. I had stood on my side of it. I had reminded him and reminded myself every time his hand lingered too long, every time he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

So why did I feel like he had just ripped my heart out and left it bleeding on the hotel carpet?

Because he said he loved me.

Because he said it like it was true.

Because he said it after telling me he never loved the women who carried his children.

Rose. Ruby. The mothers of Lorenzo and Paolo and Elisa. Women he slept with, impregnated, kept around, discarded. Women he never once called his wife. Women he never once loved.

And he looked me in the eye and said I love you. More than anything.

Liar.

The word burned in my throat. I swallowed it down, tasted blood again, and hated how much I wanted to believe him anyway.

I pressed my forehead to my knees. My hair fell forward in damp curtains. It still smelled like his shampoo. Like him. I wanted to scream.

What if I gets pregnant for him?

The thought arrived cold and sudden, like a hand closing around my throat.

We had not used anything. Not once. Not in the car, not in the hotel, not against the window, not on the floor, not back at home, not here. He had came inside me over and over, deep and reckless, and I had let him. I had begged him to. I had arched into it like it was the only thing that could keep me from falling apart.

My hand flew to my stomach. Flat. Soft. Empty, maybe. Or maybe not.

"Oh God," I whispered to the empty hallway. "Oh God, no."

Images flooded my mind without permission. A missed period. A test with two pink lines. Domenico’s face when I told him. Paolo’s face when he found out. The way the world would fracture again, only this time it would be because of me.

I scrambled up so fast my vision swam. The robe slipped off one shoulder. I didn’t care. I ran to the bathroom on shaking legs, tore the dress off like it was contaminated, kicked it into the corner. The shower came on with a hiss. Scalding. I stepped under it before the water had time to warm.

Steam filled the small room instantly, fogging the mirror, blurring my reflection until I looked like a stranger.

I grabbed the handheld, aimed it between my legs, and scrubbed.

Fingers inside. Water blasting. Pushing. Scooping. Trying to rinse him out of me like he was something dirty I could flush away.

"You stupid bitch," I sobbed under the spray. "You stupid, reckless, pathetic bitch. How could you let him do that? How could you let him do it again and again? You knew. You always knew. You fucking knew better."

The water was too hot. My skin turned pink, then red. My scalp burned where it hit. I did not stop. I could not stop. I kept digging, kept rinsing, kept crying until my throat was raw and my fingers cramped and my knees felt weak.

It was useless.

I knew it was useless.

You cannot wash away a consequence.

I turned the shower off, dripping and shaking, and stood there for a moment, water pooling at my feet, my breath coming in uneven bursts. My reflection stared back at me through the clearing steam. Mascara smeared under my eyes. Hair plastered to my cheeks. A woman who looked nothing like the one who had laughed in that hotel room only hours ago.

I wrapped myself in a towel and stumbled into the bedroom. I tore the nightstand open. Condoms. Lube. Nothing useful. Bathroom cabinet. Ibuprofen. Tampons. A half empty bottle of vitamins. Nothing. My purse. Lip gloss. Keys. Wallet. Receipts. No morning-after pills.

I dropped to my knees and yanked open the bottom drawer of the dresser. Shoved clothes aside. Checked old makeup bags. Looked under the bed like something life saving might be hiding there.

Nothing.

I sat back on my heels, wet hair sticking to my face, and stared at the wall.

Paolo’s voice slipped into my head. His call from earlier. Before dinner. Before the hotel. Before everything cracked open.

"Reina... I know I’m not the best husband. I’m sorry. I really am. But I love you so much. You’re the only good thing in my horrible life. Just the thought of you makes me feel light again. I can’t wait to hold you. I really, really hope you stay with me forever."

He had sounded small. Tired. Honest.

And I had been on my way to sleep with his father.

The shame hit like a wave. Thick. Drowning.

I curled forward, forehead to my knees, and cried like a child. Ugly sobs that scraped up from somewhere deep in my chest.

I could not be pregnant. I could not do that to Paolo. I could not do that to myself.

I had to fix this.

I had to get pills.

Now.

I threw on sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, sneakers. Grabbed my purse, my phone, my keys. I did not bother with makeup. Did not brush my hair. My hands were still shaking when I tied my laces.

I flew down the stairs, heart in my throat, and yanked the front door open.

A dark figure stood just beyond the small walkway that led from my apartment to the gate. Hood up. Shoulders hunched. The person turned sharply at the sound of the door. For a second we just stared at each other.

Then they ran.

Fast.

They pushed through the gate and sprinted to a black car parked crooked at the curb. The door slammed. Tires screeched. Taillights flared red before the car peeled away into the night.

I froze in the doorway, breath trapped in my lungs.

Someone had been at my door.

Watching me.

Waiting.

My skin prickled. Every shadow suddenly felt alive. Every parked car suspicious.

My hands started shaking so badly the keys rattled against my palm.

I slammed the door shut. Locked it. Deadbolt. Chain. Checked them twice. Three times.

Leaned back against it again, heart racing so hard it hurt.

Call Domenico.

The thought slammed into me before I could stop it.

He would know what to do. He would find out who it was. He would make it stop.

My thumb hovered over his name on my phone.

No.

I could not.

Not after tonight. Not after Rose and Ruby and the children he never loved. Not after he looked me in the eye and said he loved me like it was supposed to fix everything.

If I called him, I would fall back into him. And I was not strong enough to survive that twice.

I scrolled to Calestino instead.

He answered on the second ring.

"Reina?"

"Calestino," my voice cracked. "I think... I think someone was at my door. Just now. A person in a hoodie. They ran to a black car and drove off when they saw me. I’m scared."

A beat of silence. Then his voice sharpened. Protective. Alert.

"Do not leave the house. Lock everything. I am on my way right now."

"Okay," I whispered.

"Stay on the line until I get there."

I nodded even though he could not see me.

The call stayed open.

I slid down the door again, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the sound of his car engine starting in the background.

And I waited.

I might sounded so fake with this, or so unreal, but I fucking missed Paolo and I half wished he was here right now.