October 2000

She had no one to turn to, no one to consult with. No one to help her analyze, rationalize, or quell her anxiousness. And as a result, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a boulder that can't be moved even the slightest bit. It's not that she didn't have people in her life who were close to her, people that she loved, people who cared about her as much as she cared about them. She just knew what would happen if she told them. They probably wouldn't believe her; she wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Part of her still couldn't believe it, even though the issue had planted its roots in the forefront of her mind.

So it was up to her. She had to deal with it on her own. And with Will out of the country and Jack, while she loved him, not exactly the ideal person to seek advice from, she didn't have a hard time accepting that fact. What she did have a hard time with, however, was the fact that even though her relationship with Karen had seemingly run its course, she found herself back where she started a year and a half ago. But instead of longing for that touch, she was now longing for the memory of that touch to disappear from her mind.

The dreams were long gone; while Grace thought that they would pick up again as soon as Karen made her urgent way out the door, she eventually went to bed and met a dreamless sleep. And as the months rolled on, even if she did dream, the places in her head weren't familiar, and while the people may have been people she knew, she couldn't find the one she knew best in the crowd. Gone was the bedroom, both the one she kept in Will's apartment and the one she called her own in 9A. Gone was the shadowed figure at the doorway, the laugh that she could name in a heartbeat. Gone was that urge not to feel safe, the living room, the elevator, her office, the darkness of the swatch room in the middle of the night, those risky public places.

Gone was the real thing.

And she was pretty sure she wasn't getting it back.

The week leading up to Karen's departure, Grace did the best she could to pretend like nothing happened, like the last year hadn't happened. Because, if you asked Will, if you asked Jack, if you asked anyone except Stan and that couple from the band of socialites Karen associated herself with, nothing did happen. Everything they had done—with the exception of the encounter in that downtown bookstore, and a couple of other skilled public outings scattered throughout the first phase of their connection—was done behind closed doors. Technically, all she had to do was deny everything—not even that, just keep a straight face—and she would be fine. No one would suspect a thing.

If only it were that easy.

The surface struggle was already won; she may wear her heart on her sleeve when it comes down to most things in life, but she could put on her game face when she had to. And god, was that game face strong. Sure, it may not have been when she still had Karen secretly on her arm, but now that it was over, she could focus her time on making her exterior strong where her interior was weak. But what about that interior? What about the inside? What about everything that all those doors throughout all those months were hiding? You can't just crush that to dust. It was never that simple. Those closed doors held in everything she wanted to release, and they wouldn't let any of it go. And since solitude wasn't working—she rarely went out, tried to keep as much time to herself as possible, even read the rest of Karen's diary to see if that theory of hers would work (it didn't)—Grace decided that the only way to unlock all of these doors was to stuff more memories, different memories, behind them so that there's no choice but for the door to burst, unleashing everything.

Two months after Karen left, Grace met a guy in the coffeehouse she used to frequent with her former lover; she thought that if she searched for the cure in the places that reminded her most of Karen, it would eventually take away the old connections to what lay inside these buildings and replace them with connections she felt that she could actually deal with. But while this guy, whose name escapes her now, seemed to be the ticket, Grace soon found out that they had absolutely nothing in common other than their drink order (it would be too easy for him to remember what she drank; Karen took concentration, she paid attention, she took notes). But when it should have probably deterred her, she simply went on to the next place. The downtown bookstore, Washington Square Park. At each location, she met someone who would end up being a sweet but fleeting distraction. There was only one place left she could go. But she wasn't that callous.

The Scarlet Rose. The restaurant that had belonged to Karen long before Grace had known that Karen existed. There was one point where she walked the street leading up to the place. There was one point where she had let herself consider walking in, sitting at the bar, and seeing what happens. But just as quickly as that thought had entered her mind, she hated herself for ever thinking it. And just as quickly as she hated herself for ever thinking it, she met Scott walking the avenue that led to the restaurant. He was cute. He was smart. He was dull. Completely and utterly dull.

She would give him one thing, though. He was the first person in this five-month string to distract her from her problems for a long period of time. And she couldn't argue with those results.

Grace had grown accustomed to the fact that Will was off in another land, so even though he had returned from his vacation-turned-business trip yesterday, she still wasn't used to the fact that he was just across the hall, ready to give advice at any moment (and if Will had landed yesterday, Karen couldn't be far behind. She may be home now, in fact, she may be…stop it, Grace. Stop it). He probably would have advised against this.

But she was desperate to break that door down.

And Will didn't know the real reason behind it, so maybe he wouldn't be so harsh.

Maybe.

She unlocked her front door and looked at Scott, tried on a smile that didn't seem so false, that didn't seem so weathered. She knew she was making this into a more tragic situation than it needed to be. In all honesty, this guy wasn't so bad. And it had been five months with no word from Karen, no response to that message that she left in May (it was probably worthless anyway, why did you even try? Stop it, Grace. Stop plaguing yourself with these thoughts). It was time to move on. "Would you like to come in?" she asked. She walked through the doorway and waited for him to follow suit.

And when he did, she closed the door behind them.

Karen shoved her cab fare towards the front of the cab and barely waited for the driver to take what he was after. She was well aware of the fact that she had likely just given him the most generous tip of his career; her acquired lifestyle had taught her to be carefree with her money, and this added with the desire to just get the hell out of this cab and try to salvage her love made her flustered and absent to everything else. She stepped inside the building before the cab had a chance to drive off; she heard it speed away while the door closed behind her.

This was it.

The elevator could not come fast enough. Karen stepped inside, pressed "9" repeatedly until the doors closed and she felt herself lifting. Something about the way the elevator sent her upwards shook the weight that was on her shoulders, made it tip to the side with the threat of falling off. And Karen was dying to have it fall off. She was almost certain it was going to fall off.

It had to fall off.

She held her breath as the doors opened, and she was faced with the door of 9C across the hall. She recalled that first night in April, after the girl's night, after the kiss in the swatch room, after she found that note on her desk: My front door will be unlocked tonight. That thrill of knowing that they were about to embark upon something unfamiliar, but something brilliant. But at a turn, she saw the door of 9A, and while she could count a plethora of memories filled with romance and warmth, she couldn't help but be faced with that last night she had with Grace. The chill of the diary's thud against the counter. Her rock hard words towards Grace before she walked out the door. God, why did she have to be so cold? There was no way they could come back from that, right?

Come on, Karen. You know Grace. She could forgive you. Everything could be alright.

Just make your move.

Get to that damn door.

She walked slowly down the hall towards the right. Before she got to the door of 9A, it opened for her.

But instead of Grace, she saw a man walking out.

"Good evening," he said as he became aware of Karen's presence, a friendly greeting for a stranger. She felt the words of a response come to die in her throat. She felt her heart slow as he walked into the same elevator that she came out of. She felt the weight that at one point tonight was shaking, tipping, on the verge of falling off, steady itself with full force. She felt the spin as the tables turned, and she was the one vying for the attention of a woman who was on the arm of another person, a man.

She felt the hot sting of tears rolling down her face.