I wish I could say there was a happily ever after ending, but I can't. When has there ever been?
I went home that night. I didn't wait around to see what would happen. I loved--love--Ellie, but... she's not mine to have. Not now. And I guess maybe I need to respect that. I hope Tim can fix her. I hope she can fix herself. But if she can't, well, I've done all I can. I brought attention to her misery.
A month after I left, I returned to Toronto for a night. I headed to the strip joint and saw no sign of her. I was just about to leave when I heard them announce Cherry coming to the stage... and there she was.
She looked the same. She smiled a little more but it wasn't her smile--it was some fake thing that she'd conjured up. I guess she did it for Tim, maybe, that she pretended she was doing better so she wouldn't have to face the fact that she wasn't okay.
Who am I kidding? It's all idle speculation. I'm not some fucking shrink. I don't even know if Tim talked to her. I don't even know if he believed me or if he cared that I was telling the truth. I knew that Ellie was still stripping. I knew that she was unhappy. And I knew that much as I wanted to, it wasn't my job to save her.
I thought I could keep hidden in the large and rather horny audience, but whether it was my awkwardness or just plain luck (good or bad, I'm not sure), she spotted me halfway through her routine.
She held my gaze for a full two seconds, her eyes boring into mine. They were piercing and angry and bitter and that made me pretty damn positive that she and Tim had a little discussion about certain issues. And then her chin jutted out a little more and she whipped her head around and continued her dance, and that was that.
I left, then. I didn't want to run into her. I didn't want to force my presence on her. All I wanted was to know if she was okay, and I had my answer, even if it wasn't the one I was looking for.
As an afterthought, I headed to employee parking and found her beat-up, trashy car in front of a dirty sign bearing her name. One of her mirrors was cracked and half the paint was chipped off. It looked like the passenger door handle was held on by just a few straggly pieces of duct tape. It was pathetic, and it was very much the Ellie I'd come to know.
I had a pen with me but no paper, so I sacrificed a five-dollar bill instead. She could probably use the money more than I could anyway. I scribbled my phone number onto it and nothing more--she would know it was from me. I didn't expect her to call me, but I wanted her to be able to if she ever wanted to talk.
I hesitated and then lifted her windshield wiper, intending to tuck the money underneath. Then I looked around at where I was and laughed--the chances of her being the one to find it were slim to none. The first person past would snatch it up in an instant.
I dropped my hand to my side, trying to figure out what to do. I idly played with her door handle--and was only half surprised when the door sprang open. Problem solved. I tucked the bill down next to the seat--visible, but not obvious--then hit the lock and shut the door. I heard an ominous creaking as it slammed shut but the car didn't fall apart so I crept away.
It was a long drive home.
She hasn't called me. She probably never will. But if she does, I'll be here waiting, with baited breath and hopes and dreams for her future. It's all I can do. I hope it's enough.