I take the elevator this time, my lips quivering as I sob the entire way down, and even when I’m dragging myself outside the building and onto Seventy-fourth Street I still don’t care. I don’t care that I’m crying late at night on the streets of New York. All I know is that the night air feels relaxing as I breathe it in, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds as I slowly walk around the corner onto Third Avenue. My chest begins to relax and even my trembling begins to calm.
It’s a twenty-minute walk to the Lowell, straight down Third Avenue and across Sixty-third Street. I don’t mind it, though. I like the space and the privacy, despite the fact that there’s still a flow of pedestrians on the sidewalks and a trail of traffic on the roads. It feels nice to just be alone for once. No Tyler. No Tiffani. No Dean and no Rachael and no Snake and no Emily. Just me. I do receive some curious glances from people as they pass me, and I wonder if I look like some runaway misfit. Again, I don’t care. What the general public of Manhattan think of me isn’t my biggest concern right now.
The night is colder than I remember it being up on the roof, so I stuff my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie when I reach Sixty-third Street, sighing with relief as I pass the Santa Fe Opera again. I’ve run out of tears by the time I reach the hotel, and they’ve already dried into my cheeks. Now my eyes just feel swollen and red, so I rub at them in an attempt to hide the fact that I’ve been crying, but I think I only end up making it worse, because they begin to sting.
There’s a different doorman this time, a middle-aged man with graying hair who opens the door and wishes me a good night’s sleep. I don’t tell him I’m not even a guest here and I certainly don’t mention that tonight I doubt I’ll be sleeping at all, let alone sleeping well. I just say thanks.
I shuffle past the front desk and across the main lobby, tracing my way to the elevator as I try to remind myself of the route we took to get to the suite. I know it’s on the tenth floor, so I push the button and wait as the elevator smoothly heads up. It’s mirrored, so I stare at my reflection. My eyes look awful and it’s obvious that I’ve just been sobbing for what felt like fifteen minutes straight. I know there’s nothing I can do to hide this fact, and I’m pretty sure Tiffani will be thrilled when she sees me. In a last-ditch attempt to sooth away the swollenness, I dab at my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie, right before giving up entirely.
I head out of the elevator, focusing on keeping my breathing steady as I make my way along the tenth-floor lobby to the correct suite. When I come across it, I stand outside of the door for a long while. I really don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to face Tiffani’s satisfied smirks and I don’t want to face Dean. I think Rachael is the only one I’m not worried about seeing, but it does make me wonder how I’m supposed to explain myself to her and Dean. How do I explain why I’ve been crying? What reason do I give them for staying in their suite? I doubt Tiffani has filled them in on our arrangement.
Once I’ve taken a few deep breaths, I finally knock on the door. It’s after ten by now, but I can still hear their TV. It doesn’t take long for someone to answer, and as I listen to the locks being released I brace myself for who it’ll be. I’m seriously praying that it’ll be Rachael, but it’s not. It’s Tiffani. It doesn’t surprise me.
“Eden!” she exclaims in surprise, but at the exact same time a glorious smile spreads across her face. She’s draped in a silk dressing gown, which she holds closed with one hand as she holds the door open with the other. “What are you doing here?”
I grit my teeth together and abruptly push past her. I can’t deal with her act right now, of all times, and as I force myself into the center of the living area I hear her close the door behind me. Dean jumps to his feet from one of the ugly vintage chairs, his eyebrows shooting up as he wonders why I’m here. He’s wearing a pair of black sweats and a white T-shirt and he immediately walks over to me. It doesn’t take long for the concern to show on his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, ducking down slightly so that he’s smaller than me, allowing him to look up at me intensely from beneath his eyelashes. “Eden, what’s wrong?”
I reach for his hand, interlocking our fingers. I find comfort in his presence. Dean’s always been able to put me at ease, even just with the sound of his voice. Always so caring, always so gentle. I step forward and bury my face into his chest, his shirt sticking to my damp eyes. “I had an argument with Tyler,” I whisper, even though it’s far from the truth. I’m also aware that Tiffani is watching us from a few feet away, but I ignore her by squeezing my eyes shut. “I thought I’d come stay with you.” It’s not true. It’s just an act. My grip on Dean, however, isn’t. I really do keep hugging him, not to keep Tiffani happy but because I need to. I need Dean right now. I need my boyfriend.