Buck pats my shoulder and gives me an awkward hug where my face ends up in his armpit. I hold my breath until it’s over.
“I’ll totally let you beat me.” He motions to the TV.
I indulge Buck in a few rounds, but he has to work pretty hard to lose. After an hour of Xbox, it becomes pretty obvious I’m not invested in the game, and my stomach starts to gurgle.
Buck puts a beefy hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“The sundae isn’t sitting well.”
“Shit. You’re gonna have the moops, aren’t you?”
I grimace as another stomach cramp rolls through. “Yeah.”
“I should probably head out and leave you to it.”
I follow Buck to the door and watch while he shoves his feet into his massive shoes. We exchange a quick hug, and I open the door. We’re immediately assaulted by the stench of body odor. Melvin must have been in the hallway recently.
Buck frowns. “What the hell is that smell?”
“That’s my next door neighbor Melvin.”
“That’s from a person? It smells like a rotting sweaty corpse was dragged through the hallway.”
“I know. Rank, isn’t it? That’s nothing compared to his taste in music.” As if on cue, the death metal starts up.
“Is this guy for real?”
“The music doesn’t last too long.” Only two or three hours. I don’t tell Buck that Melvin also stops by almost every night to see if I want to hang out.
“You let me know if you want me to have a word with this guy,” Buck says with a shake of his head.
“I’m good. Thanks, though.” I give him another hug, mostly because I’m desperate for affection, and send him down the hall. He stumbles past Melvin’s door—the odor is horrendous—and then rushes on to the elevator.
After a lengthy time-out in the bathroom, I go to bed. The ensuing ice cream coma is neither restful nor peaceful. I dream of Alex and his air hockey table, except in my dream it’s not me he’s banging, it’s some other hockey hooker.
Two days later, there’s a knock at my door. I assume it’s Melvin because it’s about the right time of the evening for him to come knocking. If that’s the case, I can’t even pretend I’m not home because he can hear my television through the wall much like I can hear his death metal serenades. I peek out the peephole and discover it’s not Melvin, but Alex.
All sorts of weird things happen inside my body. I feel like my stomach is going to come out of my throat. My heart is pounding like I’ve had a massive orgasm. My beaver is so excited she’s gnawing at my underwear—which, incidentally, are hideous—and tears spring to my eyes. After almost a month I should have a better handle on my emotions, but I don’t.
He looks exhausted but gorgeous, as usual, even with the full beard he’s currently rocking. Especially with that damn beard. He’s all rustic and lumbersexual looking.
I squeak when he raps on the door again and clamp a hand over my mouth.
“Violet?” His forehead comes to rest against the door so I’m only able to see his fuzzy jaw, and I hear him sigh. “I know you’re in there. I saw your 4Runner in the parking lot and I heard you make a noise.”
Hands pressed against the steel panel separating us, I say nothing. Even though I hate him, I love him, and it fucking hurts so bad. I just want it to stop. I wish he hadn’t done this to us; I want him to leave, but I want him to stay. I also want to know how the hell he managed to get up here.
I have to bury my face in the crook of my elbow and bite my hoodie to stifle my pathetic sob.
“I know I fucked up, Violet. I just want to talk to you. Please, baby? I miss you. I made a mistake. If you let me explain, maybe we can work things out. I wanna work things out.”
I take two or three deep breaths and clench my fists so I don’t reach for the doorknob. I want to talk to him. I want Alex to have a reason for what he did to us. But whatever it is, it can’t be good enough. There’s no justification for that kind of humiliation.
Knowing this doesn’t prevent the ache in my heart from flaring until it reaches yeast infection levels of discomfort.
“Baby, open the door. You don’t have to let me in. I’ll stay here in the hall. You can even leave the chain lock on. I only want to see you.” He pauses and waits a few endless seconds. His head thumps against the door. “Everything sucks without you. I was under a lot of pressure. I didn’t mean what I said—”
“Then why did you say it?” I scream and then cover my mouth with my palm, horrified I’m too weak to maintain my silence. I put my eye back to the peephole in time to see him lift his head and brace his hands on either side.
“Because I’m an idiot. Please, Violet. Don’t make me talk to you like this. Give me a chance to explain.”