SM owns.

Thanks to Sunflower Fanfiction & Mari for everything, as usual.

Enjoy.

Stripped Desire – Chapter 8: Eraser

"You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present."

Jan Glidewell .~

"I thought you wouldn't come," he says, looking at me with bedroom eyes.

"I wasn't," I say, losing my coat. It takes me a few minutes before I'm able to place it on the hanger.

Garrett walks across the room with confident strides. When he reaches me, he envelops me in a hug. He smells nice, almost too nice. It feels as if he swallowed his perfume bottle.

"I'm glad you did," he says in my ear.

My body relaxes a little, but I'm still tense. It has been a while.

Garrett offers me wine, but I hate the wine list in this hotel, so I decline.

We make small talk for a few minutes, standing in the balcony. When I shiver from the cold air, he rubs my arms up and down to keep me warm. It doesn't help.

He talks about his business—a law firm—while I pretend to listen to him. I wish I cared about what he has to say.

"You look good," he says after silence falls between us. He smiles a polite smile, as if we're only acquaintances. It's still better than the one Michael used to give me.

I'm in no position to complain, since this is the safest bet I have to distract myself.

I thank him for the compliment and smile at him.

When he kisses me, I let him.

When he leads me toward the bed, I follow.

His skin is warm; I'm still cold.

When I open my eyes the next day, it's still dark out. My alarm hasn't gone off yet, so I deactivate it. Garrett stirs when I get out of the bed, but he doesn't wake up.

I lock myself inside the bathroom to get ready, and avoid my reflection on the mirror. The bile rising in my throat as I think about last night is painful.

These nights never leave me feeling satisfied, only dirty.

It makes me hate myself a little.

I don't know why I came here. Especially when there are no good feelings to overrule the bad ones.

Garrett doesn't make my skin sing. He doesn't make my heart race. My body doesn't burn in his presence. I've always known this, and yet, this is the first time I stop to think about it.

It's all so disappointing.

After I'm dressed, I walk back to the room and find Garrett getting out of bed.

"I have to go," I say. My voice comes out stronger than I feel.

He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

And he doesn't care. This is why we work, after all. I don't understand why it seems to matter now.

I locate my purse while he goes into the bathroom. He leaves the door open. I can hear the toilet flushing and the water running. It sounds intimate but it's not. Our relationship is a business transaction.

Maybe it's time I let go of this client. I'm not earning all that much.

"Garrett," I say when he walks toward me with a towel on his hand.

"Yes?" He doesn't look at me.

"Please don't call me again."

I'm out the door before he has a chance to respond.

After leaving the hotel I've sworn I'll never visit again, I go home, take a shower, and get ready for my beauty salon appointment.

I call Alice to clear some things up with her even though she already knows I won't be going to work today.

Unlike Edward, she knows a dinner with my father requires a day off for me.

I spend the entire morning at the beauty salon pampering myself. I cut my hair, get my nails done, and get a massage. By the time they're done with me, I only have time to go back home to get ready for dinner.

Just how I planned it.

My mind goes back to last night's events over and over. I shouldn't have slept with Garrett. Not last night or any of the other times.

He's so not worth it.

Who is?

I stop the train of thought before I get an answer I'm not ready to face. The thought about right lights enters my mind a couple of times, though.

I meet my father at the agreed upon restaurant at 4:59.

He's sitting at one of the tables in the middle. That wasn't the one I reserved.

When I get to him, he stands.

"Your hair's longer," he says, extending his hand.

"Hi Dad," I say, kissing his cheek instead.

"I ordered our entrees and a bottle of wine," he says once we're sitting down. "You're paying."

"Of course."

I've learned not to get into these games with him. He's always trying to give me a reason to argue, just so that he can remind me what he has given me and what I have wasted. When the check arrives, he won't let me pay. His pride won't let him.

"How's business?" he asks after the waiter arrives with our entries.

"It's good. We've acquired several clients since the last time we talked," I say, sipping my wine, hating how delightful it tastes.

"I should hope so, otherwise you would be broke."

I laugh even though is not funny.

He spends the evening questioning every aspect of my business, from the clients we've had to the type of company that supplies our paper.

I answer everything as well as I can, not letting my emotions get the best of me. I'm one hundred percent honest, even when I know my answers might upset him. I listen to his reproaches over silly things like a good student, nodding when he offers me unsolicited advice.

By the time dinner's over, I'm sure there isn't an aspect of my career he hasn't questioned, objected to, or complained about.

My head is throbbing, and I can feel how tense I am. The three glasses of wine I drank didn't help. A fourth one would've, maybe. But he frowned when I finished the last one, so I refrained from pouring myself more.

"Did your mother plan anything else for us?" he asks after he pays the check.

I shake my head, not bothering to correct him. Pointing out that I was the one who made the reservations won't make a difference.

"You should head off to the hotel. Get some sleep. You have an early flight tomorrow," I say.

He nods, but doesn't get up.

"Did she tell you the news about Michael?" he asks, fixing his dark eyes at me. I don't answer his question. "He's gotten engaged. Now he can finally start his political career."

I narrow my eyes at him, remembering all the times my mom made it look as though Michael has been pining for me. Funny how she forgot to mention he had a serious girlfriend.

Does she get that much pleasure out of making me feel guilty about things?

I shake my head out of my thoughts and address my dad.

"Good for him."

"It's remarkable, really," he goes on, rubbing his chin. "After the stunt you pulled on him, we thought he might never get around to fulfilling his dream. We're thankful he has been so gracious about it all, otherwise our lives would be ruined. His family is friends with most of my clients."

I don't mention that his dream, as far as I knew, was never to be a politician. But I never did get to know him that well.

People are unreliable.

I stare at him, wondering if he has any idea of the words he's saying. Maybe he doesn't realize that this is his daughter he's talking to and that Michael Newton is not whose side he should be on.

Perhaps I'm being unfair.

I was the one who broke the engagement after all. Michael's only sin was not loving me enough, and I can't blame him for that, when I'm not sure I loved him at all.

It's a guilt I've carried ever since I got the guts to get out of my parent's house. Things would've gone so much easier if only I had married the guy they wanted.

"Well," I say, standing up. "If we're lucky, Mom will be the maid of honor or something. That way she can make up for the spotlight she missed when I cancelled ours. God knows this might be her only chance."

His face is impassive after my words, but the set of his jaw gives his anger away. He doesn't say anything, so I kiss his cheek goodbye and wish him a good flight.

Once outside, I get the security guy from the restaurant to get me a cab. He looks annoyed by my request, but my expression leaves no room for argument.

The backseat of the car smells terrible, and it worsens my headache. The ride back home feels as if it will never end. There are traffic jams down every street we turn. I'm too out of myself to yell at the taxi driver for picking the worse route to my neighborhood on purpose.

When we finally get there, I pay the fare without complaint and let him think I'm a silly tourist.

I walk the steps to my door looking down at my brand new black shoes, curious about how I managed to scuff them.

Once I get inside my house, after dropping the keys twice, I feel worse than I have in a long time.

Both my cell phone and my house phone ring several times, but I don't answer them.

I lay on my bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling and willing my headache to go away without any medicine.

Then, someone knocks on my door.

The interruption is so unexpected, that it takes the person on the other side three more tries before I even make an attempt to get up.

When I do get the door, the first thing I see is the well-known logo from my favorite bakery.

The second thing, are his green eyes, staring at me in a way that has become familiar.

And the third thing, are his lips moving, asking me to let him in.

Thank you for reading.

See you next week.

xo