Just For Tonight

ten

Sunday rolled around like usual.

I spent the day cleaning, re-evaluating life choices, and ignoring what happened Saturday night. I hadn't heard from Levi again but I was glad for it. I think we both needed a breather after our unexpected conversation, at least on my end.

I knew that seeing him casually was something I wanted to do, something that I was capable of doing. And it wasn't because I was completely heartless or afraid of love, but rather I believed no one would ever love me. I was content being alone, never finding a true life partner because that's what I've been led to believe. Every past relationship I entered ended in some sort of heartbreak, some sort of betrayal. Whether it be a betrayal of character, emotions, or straight-up cheating–I had given up on a long-term commitment

Now I spent the time I used to focus on dating, falling in love, and getting hurt–into writing.

It's proven to be quite effective as my first novel was an instant New York Times bestseller, a completely surreal experience, one I will never recover from. The tour for it had officially just ended, leaving me on a deep low after the high of traveling from state to state to talk about my work. But luckily I didn't have much time to really focus on it, already on deadline for book two.

Which results in my acceptance of Levi and I's arrangement in the first place.

It was a healthier mechanism for dealing with stress than not eating, or showering for hours and days at a time. It was a way I could remain connected with the human world while spending my days staring at a screen and forcing couples together in forbidden tropes through my words.

Now I'm worried it was all a mistake, and it didn't help that Levi wasn't a man of many words–instead a man of many grumps.

For the first part of the week, I spent it re-writing some chapters I didn't totally feel fit, then continuing on with hitting my word count each day. I tried not to put too much pressure on myself like I normally do, but I couldn't help but feel like I needed to step it up. So by Wednesday, I had written over twenty thousand words which are higher than my normal five thousand words a day but lower than my aim of ten thousand a day. For the better part of the morning I just worked, until lunch rolled around and I needed food.

Instead of salvaging whatever was left in my pantry and maybe three eggs and some oat milk in the fridge–I took myself shopping.

The store was a ten-minute walk from my apartment and I figured I could use the time to get out and out of my head. Fall time in Boston could either be nothing but a glorified summer or impending winter. Today it was actually somewhere in the middle for once. It was cold enough for a sweater but warm enough to walk without getting a chill. Days like these felt like I should curl up inside with nothing but coffee, comfort shows, and some takeout pizza.

I made it to the store in twelve minutes, quickly shopped for what I needed, and headed to the checkout. The lines weren't too long but I could feel a headache coming on and needed to get home for some Advil before it became a migraine and ruined my day. By the time I reached the checkout clerk, it swelled painfully behind my eyes and I winced as I placed my food down.

The clerk eyed me warily but continued scanning, which I appreciated. I'd rather not answer any concerned questions. I'm almost out the door, on my way to some much-needed Advil when someone stops me. For a quick second, I wonder if I had something in my hand that I forgot to scan but instead, it's a guy with a bewildered look on his face tapping the person next to him's shoulder.

"Bro, this is her?" He slaps his friend with excitement and I immediately straighten.

"Excuse me?" My guard is completely up, I've never seen these guys before. Both of them look like picturesque frat boys and it sends me into an even more in-depth spiral because–not to stereotype–but I don't think they'd be interested in what I write either.

"You're the girl from the pictures, with Mills?" He points to me like I should have any idea what he's talking about. "You think you could get me an autograph or something?" His eyes drop to my covered chest at the word something, and I panic.

"Listen, buddy, I don't know what you're talking about or what you're attempting to suggest right now. But leave me alone." Disgust rolls off me in waves.

"Damn, chill. Just a question." He nods his head to his friend. "Show her." A phone is shoved in my face and my heart drops. There on the screen is a picture of Levi and me leaving the club from the other night, his face cast down and mine turned to the side but with a smile on it.

Chills drop down my spine and my mind wanders to how not good this looks. Not that I care what people may think but it's the fact my face is plastered all over some gossip sight by the looks of it with a very well-known hockey player's hand wrapped around my wrist and we're nothing but fuck buddies–if that.

This is bad.

Instead of answering the two peering men, I just turn and walk away. Rushing home as fast as possible because the revelation of the photos only made my headache worse. Th thought of Levi seeing those knowing how low-key he hoped to keep us sends another pang behind my eye. But it's not my fault, it's not like anyone would expect their hookups to be broadcasted all over the internet like this. It's not like I planned it.

By the time I reach my apartment, I can barely think over the pain, and once I'm inside I'm racing towards my bathroom for the medicine cabinet and tearing open the pain meds. I toss the groceries that need refrigeration inside and leave the rest of them on the counter to deal with later.

Headaches were something I struggled with since high school, progressively getting worse with the years. For a while I ignored the fact that they were abnormal and not everyone got nausea and vision loss with them, shoving the concern to the side. But it got bad enough to where I couldn't, and after a visit with the neurologist, I was prescribed daily medication. But the meds didn't always work and when they failed I'd have to substitute with over-the-counter meds, and bunker down to ride it out.

This only sets my goals back by, I don't know, an entire afternoon! I had hoped to finish the chapter I was working on but one look at my computer had me swallowing back a wave of nausea. So instead, I unwillingly curled up in bed with water and an ice pack.

So many things begged for my attention in my mind, thoughts like Levi, the pictures, the deadline, and setting up my couch for Jaz to stay on. So many of them raced for the frontline spot of consideration but I didn't have the energy to dwell on them. I closed my eyes, forced myself to sleep, and prayed I'd be better when I woke up.