Julia Ferris had it all. A loving a boyfriend, a glamorous city, and a high paying job. What more could a girl want? She’d ask you, “What if all those things weren’t what you wanted … ever?”
Julia’s life has always been defined by everyone around her, but one day she makes the rash decision to finally live life for herself, and it all starts with a pair of shoes. Now it becomes her only guide.
From new jobs, to new boys, and a life in a big city she was never prepared for, she can at least admit one thing now:
It’s all exactly what she wants … kind of.
My eyes flicker open in unison with my stretch. I feel incredibly satiated and calm, and waking up with a smile is a new thing for me. However, as I gain focus the dark grays of the room confuse me.
Where are my sleek, white brick walls?
I pull in a deep breath, and the smell of woody cologne and sex slams my senses.
I peer down at the navy blue comforter covering me, noting I am very much naked.
I ogled Troy all night. I remember that. It was hard not to. I drank a lot. That I also know, but how far did I go? I wanted so much, but I tried to stay away. What’s the last thing I remember?
I turn to my right and see the hottest thing I have ever laid eyes on.
A fast asleep Troy.
I sit up on my elbows, holding the blanket to my chest.
My eyebrows angle upward in unfortunate concern as I examine his sleeping state. His face is as relaxed as my body feels. His mouth hangs slightly open —that mouth. I remember that mouth all over me last night; I remember its quiet moans in my ears and its rushed breaths that tangled with mine.
His naked chest is on full display, and all the sinews that indent themselves on his perfect form are revealed, all the way down to those hips —I definitely remember that body now, too, and remember being able to touch and kiss anywhere I’d like.
The memories of the night swarm my mind like an incoming hurricane.
I clench my thighs together feeling well used and aching in the best way.
My hand reflexively comes up, slapping onto my forehead. Oh no.
Then comes the guilt. I run that hand through my hair as I dart my eyes all over the room. My clothes are everywhere. His clothes are everywhere.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I look at the time on his nightstand. It’s barely eight in the morning and Troy looks —oh Troy looks adorable.
Stop thinking that way!
I lean a little closer to him. I want to wake him, or kiss those sexy, anger-inducing lips, but that feels instantly wrong.
I change my mind. I’m not going to wake him. I can’t. I wouldn’t know how to explain myself.
My cheeks begin to burn, thinking I've done something terrible.
No. I know I’ve done something terrible, and the only thing that’s served me any good is escaping.
I regretfully cringe as I slip from his bed. I make sure I’m quiet with each tip toeing step.
This was a terrible idea. This is wrong.
I find my bra and my dress, quickly slipping those on, but for all the love that is holy, I cannot find my panties.
I squint at Troy, not putting it past him that he would hide them away somewhere as a trophy.
My stomach plummets at the thought that I’d be something of a trophy for him. His seduction and stares said differently, but the realization that I barely know the man slams my guts.
I peer over at the time again, this time fuming with embarrassment. It’s 8:15 now.
I look back at Troy once more, taking a step toward the bed, scrutinizing his Greek features, the bastard.
The butterflies caged in my gut flutter erratically, and I know this is such a mess. I can’t tell what I’m feeling.
What about Noah!
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
I want to lean over and press a goodbye kiss to Troy’s cheek, but I shake my head instead.
All of this could easily mean nothing to him when maybe it meant everything to me.
Again, I can’t tell. Maybe we both shared a passionate night, and we’ll be done with it. Maybe we can just blame it on the alcohol and forget it ever happened. Maybe we just needed to get it out of our system?
The fact that I can’t tell which way is up or down is what has me flinging myself in the opposite direction in nerve-wracking fear. I grab my glorious heels on the way, cursing their damned determined sexiness, as if they’re to blame while I make my way to the front door to escape.
Is this what my therapist implied when I told her I was getting up and leaving the state? That I wasn’t really solving the problems and instead I was running away from them?
Is that what I’m doing now?
I feel like shit for so many different reasons, but I can’t stop pawing at my swollen lips as I approach the elevator.
If I don’t know how to justify the night to myself, how can I explain myself to anyone else?
I shoot a glance down the hall and think, what would Troy do in this situation?
That’s when I take a step inside the elevator, eager for the doors to shut behind me.
Alex Rosa lives in San Diego, California. When she isn't scouring city parks or cafe's to write she is more than likely trying to convince her friends to join her on her next adventure. A sufferer of wanderlust, she is always looking for a new mountain to climb, a canyon to hike, or a plane to board. Her resume consists of coroner, to working at a zoo, and most recently as an executive assistant, but finds her home amongst words, whether it be in books, or in film. Her obsessions are on the brink of bizarre, but that's just the way she likes it.