Betrayal

Chapter 46

Ali

I'm a mess.

I haven't slept in three days. Not well, anyway. I've been plagued with dreams of him. They're relentless. I wake up crying and gasping for air. One particular one that's been stuck in my subconscious was him fucking me. It was carnal, passionate, and intense. I woke up coming and sweating through my shirt. That's happened more than once since we last saw each other.

I take slow breaths. I've got to calm down.

I've spent all day at home, agonizing over seeing him tonight. I shouldn't have agreed. But I couldn't help it. He wanted to go to dinner with me. To talk. That's all. We aren't going to do anything. Nothing is going to happen.

I lie in bed and scroll back through our recent text messages. There aren't much. He's sent me good morning texts, asked me how I am throughout the day, how class has gone, and seemed very interested in what I'm doing. I've kept my answers short. I'm not comfortable with this. I don't know how to respond to us talking again. It feels as though we're friends, but I can't ever just be his friend. Not after what happened between us.

The last text he sent was an hour ago at four o'clock.

Warren: Haven't changed your mind about tonight, have you? I'm looking forward to it.

I responded that I would be there at eight o'clock like we agreed on Sunday night. He picked a restaurant in Lower Manhattan. I searched it up. It's swanky and upper class. I've looked at the menu. It's expensive. I have a little bit of money put back that I'm going to use to pay for my food.

I take a shower. I bought a new dress on Tuesday. It's black, backless, and fits me very well. It took me forever to decide on it. I also bought heels. I didn't want to look out of place at the restaurant. I'm sure he'll be wearing a suit. I just have a feeling.

By five-thirty I'm dressed. Phoebe Bridgers is playing quietly over my speaker. I listened to Waiting Room a thousand times after it ended, which only made me sadder. And I listen to it now. Know it's for the better. What happened was for the better and it needs to stay that way.

I do my makeup slowly and carefully. I don't put much on, just mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss. I stare at myself in the mirror when I've finished, asking myself what the fuck I think I'm doing.

I'm dressing up to look good for him. I'm wearing my nicest lingerie that I haven't worn since we were together. If I had the things he bought me I would've worn them, but I threw them out. I want him to think I look good and find me attractive. It's so confusing that I want that. I shouldn't care. He won't see what's under my dress. Nothing is going to happen.

My Uber arrives at six. I hurry downstairs and get in. The driver tries to make conversation with me. I hate when they do that, but I oblige him. My voice is shaky. My heart is racing. I feel like I want to throw up. My entire body is flushed hot and I'm sweating.

When he parks in front of the restaurant I hesitate to get out. It's extremely busy. There's so many people out tonight. I look around for him, but don't see him in the crowd or his car anywhere. But he'll be here soon if he's not already. He could be inside. It's almost seven.

After I get out, I stand in front of the restaurant a moment later and light a cigarette. I'm fidgety and more anxious than I've been all day. I don't want to go in yet. I'm not ready for this. How can I face him? It feels embarrassing. After everything he did to me, I'm still here. Like some whore he can call on that'll be at his feet at a moments notice.