No Strings Attached

Chapter Thirty-Eight

A frightening horn blares just a few feet away from the sidewalk. It's nearly ten. The sky is dark, the streets illuminated by large signs and light poles. I can't see any stars this close to the ground. Not that I thought I could.

Everything around me seems distorted, shifted... nearly unrecognizable. There are people around me but I can't focus on them. The sounds make me want to tear at my own skin. I can hardly breathe.

I thought I was having a panic attack in the room. When I picked myself back up, trying to stop the shaking, I didn't even think about it. I grabbed my coat and walked out of the destruction all around me.

I've been walking in a blur for a long time now.

And I've realized this isn't a panic attack. It's nothing I've ever felt before.

I am scared.

Fucking scared as if someone was approaching and I'm unable to turn around to find out who it is.

There isn't even anything really on my mind. At some point, the ability to do that just stopped. I'm walking alone, surrounded by blank canvas, trying to see what once used to be there... what used to make sense.

I grab onto a frozen lamp post, needing to stop. I feel my eyes struggle to focus, blinking over and over again as my heartbeat thumps irregularly, seizing my senses. I look to my side, gasping softly, finding a man staring at me. He's holding an open newspaper. His face is impassive, but seeing the pictures on the front, I know he recognizes me.

My eyes move reluctantly from the photos back to his face and I know I'm unable to hide my horror...my fear. I look away quickly before he can say anything and continue on, my feet icy in these heels against the frozen sidewalk.

My fingers close my jacket, pulling it in as tightly as they can. I feel eyes now, so many of them. I pass a window, seeing a Christmas tree still lit brightly, the multi-colored lights transporting me back to the day. As if struck by metaphorical lightning, I freeze, my body involuntarily convulsing as I see a flash of an image. Giovanni just before me, his cheeks flushed, his smile gentle, white snow falling all around him as he grabbed my tear-filled face, leaning down to kiss me. As I stand here, I can feel all the places his lips touched... my cheeks, my mouth, my forehead, my temple. They vibrate with warmth as if he were actually there.

Fuck... no.

I force myself forward, willing Giovanni out of my thoughts, needing to just make it home. My strides extend wider until I'm nearly running.

I just need to make it home.

And I do make it. When I'm across the street, I see reporters and their damn photographers. I stop, looking down at my feet, trying to breathe in and out, trying to gather enough courage to walk through them into my building without showing how broken I feel within.

When I approach, the flashes go off. I keep my face down as best I can, ignoring their questions and hidden insults, walking up the steps. I'm relieved when Rog is there, holding the door, telling them all to go home. His arm winds around my body, ushering me inside as he shuts out all the noise with the door.

"I thought you were going to come through the back?" he asks. It sounds as if he's miles away from me. I look at him, right in the face, confused, unsure how to even speak.

"Are you okay? You don't look good."

I nod, distractedly, walking away from him towards the stairs. I feel my fingers already shedding my coat.

"Scarlett?"

I reach the top and gravitate towards my door, realizing I don't have my key. It's in my purse... back in the office. Along with my phone. My purse is there. I reach up, feeling around. There's a dent in the frame and my nail digs until the wood pops up. I feel metal then.