mode. I avoid anyone and everyone. When I actually eat, it's alone in my room. I quit going to the gym. I put on my headphones the moment I get into the office, turning the music up loud enough I'm sure others can hear it. I might as well hang a do not disturb sign on my back.
It seems to be working. The few people I do see avoid me like I have weeping lesions.
Once again, the only person who doesn't seem to get the memo is Double D.
About a week into my hibernation, I forget my brain as I'm heading home from the office, and walk past the pool on a hot, Thursday afternoon. The sound of male laughter should be like a warning siren— danger, danger, turn back! —but for some reason I ignore it and keep trudging forward.
Splashing proceeds a, "Hey!" followed by the sound of bare feet on concrete.
Shit. From my peripheral vision, I see Double D jogging toward me. I keep moving.
"H.C.! Hey! Damn girl, slow down!"
With an inward sigh I turn and wait. He stops at the chain link fence surrounding the pool. Dripping wet, water runs down the rivulets of the cut muscles of his abdomen. There isn't a drop of hair to slow it down.
Since I have a pulse, I should find him attractive. I don't.
He flashes a grin at me. "Where ya been hiding?"
I don't have much of a desire to explain anything to him. "Just busy," I say.
"You don't look busy now. Why don't you grab a suit and join us?"
Oh God, is that Trey I see sitting at the bar behind the pool? Rippling muscles cover a massive back that transitions from impossibly broad shoulders to a rather narrow waist in one smooth swoop. I swallow. He has exactly the opposite affect on my pulse that D has. Twisting on the seat, he starts to turn toward me. I immediately cast my gaze elsewhere.
"No thanks," I say to D.
"Then how do you feel about drinks tonight? None of that Pakistani piss this time. I promise."
Making sure I don't accidentally look toward the bar, I focus on D's face. "Aren't you married?"
His grin doesn't drop. "Well, yeah. But she isn't here. And as long as I send her the Benjamins, she doesn't care what I do." He leans against the fence, the muscles in his chest popping. "I just figured, I'm here, you're here, maybe we could have a little…fun."
Disgust forms a bitter layer on my tongue as I tell him, "You figured wrong."
Turning, I march the opposite direction, away from the pool and away from the living quarters. I'll have to double around the backside of the buildings to get back to my room, but I don't care. If I continue on my original path I might be tempted to ogle at Trey, and I don't need that guilt dragging me down.
I should be flattered by D's offer, but I'm more angry than anything. It's none of my business and maybe he does have some sort of arrangement with his wife, but the wounds of infidelity are too raw for me to look past it.
I don't leave my room for the rest of the day, ignoring the door when someone knocks. I skip dinner and end up sleeping past noon the following day. I've been a robot for the last week—work, eat, work, eat, read, sleep, rinse, repeat—and I've been able to disappear into the monotony.
That luck has run out. Memories play over and over in my mind, and two seem to be fighting for top billing. One bad, the other…I don't know.
The first memory is where I discovered Courtney was pregnant and Jim was leaving. The one where I realized what a failure I was. And the second is the incident with Trey, where I realized what a pathetic coward I've become. They both gnaw at my fragile self-esteem.
The day after the D's pool proposition—my day off—I only leave my room to grab a quick bite to eat. Not because I'm hungry, but because I realize that weird pain in my stomach is from not eating in the last twenty-four hours. Making sure I go when the mess hall is empty, I take a route that won't put me anywhere near the social areas. If I could have ordered room service I would have.
I realize I'm truly turning into the hermit
It seems to be working. The few people I do see avoid me like I have weeping lesions.
Once again, the only person who doesn't seem to get the memo is Double D.
About a week into my hibernation, I forget my brain as I'm heading home from the office, and walk past the pool on a hot, Thursday afternoon. The sound of male laughter should be like a warning siren— danger, danger, turn back! —but for some reason I ignore it and keep trudging forward.
Splashing proceeds a, "Hey!" followed by the sound of bare feet on concrete.
Shit. From my peripheral vision, I see Double D jogging toward me. I keep moving.
"H.C.! Hey! Damn girl, slow down!"
With an inward sigh I turn and wait. He stops at the chain link fence surrounding the pool. Dripping wet, water runs down the rivulets of the cut muscles of his abdomen. There isn't a drop of hair to slow it down.
Since I have a pulse, I should find him attractive. I don't.
He flashes a grin at me. "Where ya been hiding?"
I don't have much of a desire to explain anything to him. "Just busy," I say.
"You don't look busy now. Why don't you grab a suit and join us?"
Oh God, is that Trey I see sitting at the bar behind the pool? Rippling muscles cover a massive back that transitions from impossibly broad shoulders to a rather narrow waist in one smooth swoop. I swallow. He has exactly the opposite affect on my pulse that D has. Twisting on the seat, he starts to turn toward me. I immediately cast my gaze elsewhere.
"No thanks," I say to D.
"Then how do you feel about drinks tonight? None of that Pakistani piss this time. I promise."
Making sure I don't accidentally look toward the bar, I focus on D's face. "Aren't you married?"
His grin doesn't drop. "Well, yeah. But she isn't here. And as long as I send her the Benjamins, she doesn't care what I do." He leans against the fence, the muscles in his chest popping. "I just figured, I'm here, you're here, maybe we could have a little…fun."
Disgust forms a bitter layer on my tongue as I tell him, "You figured wrong."
Turning, I march the opposite direction, away from the pool and away from the living quarters. I'll have to double around the backside of the buildings to get back to my room, but I don't care. If I continue on my original path I might be tempted to ogle at Trey, and I don't need that guilt dragging me down.
I should be flattered by D's offer, but I'm more angry than anything. It's none of my business and maybe he does have some sort of arrangement with his wife, but the wounds of infidelity are too raw for me to look past it.
I don't leave my room for the rest of the day, ignoring the door when someone knocks. I skip dinner and end up sleeping past noon the following day. I've been a robot for the last week—work, eat, work, eat, read, sleep, rinse, repeat—and I've been able to disappear into the monotony.
That luck has run out. Memories play over and over in my mind, and two seem to be fighting for top billing. One bad, the other…I don't know.
The first memory is where I discovered Courtney was pregnant and Jim was leaving. The one where I realized what a failure I was. And the second is the incident with Trey, where I realized what a pathetic coward I've become. They both gnaw at my fragile self-esteem.
The day after the D's pool proposition—my day off—I only leave my room to grab a quick bite to eat. Not because I'm hungry, but because I realize that weird pain in my stomach is from not eating in the last twenty-four hours. Making sure I go when the mess hall is empty, I take a route that won't put me anywhere near the social areas. If I could have ordered room service I would have.
I realize I'm truly turning into the hermit
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