Part I
The first time she approached him he almost let his guard down.
The hour was late. The sun had long set over the mountains and the snow on the ground glistened under the streetlamps.
It has been a long day. Long week. Long month. He stood, gazing out at the world below him and felt the chill of the window as he rested his forehead against the smooth glass.
Long life really.
He had heard the knock at the door but had done nothing at first. He continued to stand, not moving except to raise his glass slowly to his lips and slowly, slowly drink the last of the night's scotch.
He didn't move towards the door.
Below him an errant page of newsprint lifted and spiraled along the scraped sidewalk, coming to rest in front of the hotel's concierge stand. Its inflated pages becoming flat and then wet.
He closed his eyes.
The knock came again. Not harder, just persistent and he inhaled deeply before opening his eyes again.
He knew why she was here. Or at least, he thought he knew, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.
Her eyes, as of late, had contained a glint of something new when she looked at him. A hint of understanding mixed with fire, and she no longer shied away from his intentional touches.
His hand on her back. Brushing her cheek. The moments he had given himself, but which she had previously pushed away.
That's why she was here. In his hotel. At his door. At this late hour. Wanting to come inside.
And she needed to go.
Breathing deeply he let his eyes drift close again and he settled down into the upholstered armchair facing the street. Something bitter and akin to regret settling in his chest.
He let his head fall back against the frame of the chair and felt the leather wallet in his back pocket cutting into his skin.
He didn't move it. Just sat there and welcomed the distraction of the discomfort.
He strained to hear footsteps or words or any sounds from the hallway, but there were none.
She must have given up. Opening his eyes towards the entry, he couldn't detect any disruption in the light under the door.
Disappointment, unwelcome and cold, prickled through him and he repressed it, pushing it down into the depths where everything else went. No room left for emotion.
He couldn't have her.
Never could.
Stupid fantasies both disgusting and exciting him. Surprising him when he began to have dreams of her months ago.
She was his friend's daughter. Half his age. A beautiful woman with life and love and a future.
No, he couldn't have her.
Outside a taxi pulled to a stop in front of the hotel and a uniformed attendant rushed to open the door. A man and woman in heavy parkas exited the vehicle and moved towards the revolving doors.
It had come upon him slowly and he had hated himself for it…the perversion. His absolute fascination with her. The way she could calm him, just by existing next to him…make the world fall away.
She was practically the age of his daughter.
The knocking came again. Startling him. Louder this time and he knew then that she knew that he was ignoring her.
Dembe must have tipped her off that he was inside. Red held the glass of ice to his temple. Pushed it against his skin.
It made it harder; that she thought it could happen. Fate playing some cruel twist of the knife.
He stood, arms at his sides, and faced the door. His tumbler grasped in one extended hand. Empty.
He should open the door. It wasn't her fault that he had these things, these feelings, towards her. It wasn't her fault.
Not at all.
And her feelings, the things he thought he saw in her eyes, they weren't real either. Just misplaced trust. Or something.
He would hurt her.
The knocking resumed.
But he knew why she was here. The interest, once fear, than wariness…over the months and years now having turned into something else.
And he couldn't be that person for her.
He didn't want to lose her too. But having her in any capacity would mean losing them both.
So he held his ground and waited until he could hear her walk back towards the elevator.
Much later, he watched her form, hunched over against the wind as she walked quickly down the street. Disappearing around a corner.
And he wished it wasn't so.
He loved her (because that's what it was, even he couldn't pretend it wasn't).
And he had to let her go.