The morning light stabbed at her eyes like a blade. Alexandra groaned, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, her skull pounding in sync with her heartbeat. Her mouth was dry, her stomach unsettled, and there was the unmistakable aftertaste of too much tequila and something far darker.
The hotel room was a wreck. Clothes scattered on the carpet, high heels tossed carelessly into corners, and an empty bottle tipped on its side near the door. One woman was curled up on the far side of the bed, hair spilling over her face. Another slept in the armchair, a sheet draped haphazardly over her legs.
Alexandra sat up slowly, her muscles stiff, her body heavy. She caught her reflection in the darkened TV screen: smeared makeup, wild hair, and eyes still carrying the glassy look of last night's haze.
And then she felt it. The echo. It isn't the drug. It isn't the alcohol. It's her: Selena. The woman she had loved since she was thirteen years old, the one who does not exist in the world.
The dream clung to her like smoke, vivid, consuming, and impossible to shake. She could still taste the phantom sweetness of that perfume, still hear the soft lilt of a voice calling her name as though it belonged to someone who had known her across lifetimes.
Alexandra dragged a hand over her face, fighting the sudden urge to cry. "This is insane," she muttered under her breath, her voice hoarse. "You're not real… you're not real." But deep down, she knew that was a lie.
She had chased every kind of thrill in this world to drown that name, to smother that face in her mind, and yet Selena always returned, sharper than before. This morning is no different. The fleeting pleasures of the night had dissolved into ash, but Selena remained, lingering like the memory of a wound that never healed.
Slowly, Alexandra slid out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping woman beside her. She collected her dress from the floor, stepped into her boots, and pocketed her keys. The sunlight outside is too bright, the air too clean, as she steps back into reality.
Reality, where she could write code for hours, close million-dollar deals, or design virtual worlds that players would never want to leave. But reality could not give her her.
And as she started her truck, the thought came again, unbidden, wrapping tight around her ribs: "What if Selena is real… and I'm wasting time in the wrong world?"
"Has she left?" one woman asked, her voice still rough from the night before.
"Yeah." The other padded over to the bed, pulling the sheet tighter around her.
"She's still cold, huh? Even after knowing us for years."
The first woman smirked. "The sex is always amazing, though."
"Agree." They shared a low laugh, the kind that carried both fondness and resignation. They'd long since learned Alexandra's rules—no goodbyes in the morning, no sentimental words, and no pretending there was more than the night. Even when they crossed paths in town, Alexandra would walk past them as if nothing had happened.
"I'd be so sad if she ever got serious about just one woman," one said, stretching lazily.
"How many years has it been? She's never taken anyone seriously."
"Yeah… don't pin your hopes on Lena."
"She's almost forty, right?"
"Doesn't look like it."
The second woman flopped back onto the bed. "At least she always pays the bill… and throws in an extra day." They exchanged a knowing smile. It was Alexandra's way, a habit as much a part of her as her refusal to let anyone too close.
Jane was already waiting in front of the house, leaning casually against the hood of her car. Beside her, Peter, the regular dog sitter, barely in his mid-twenties, is crouched in the yard, tossing a worn tennis ball for Alexandra's four restless dogs. The morning air carried the faint scent of wet grass and last night's rain, the dogs' panting filling the quiet scenery.
The sound of tires crunching over the gravel driveway made them both turn. Alexandra's sleek black truck rolled to a stop, the engine purring before cutting off. When the door opened, she stepped out and made both Jane and Peter freeze.
She's still in last night's clothes. Her silk blouse clung to her in places, wrinkled and slightly askew, the hem of her skirt twisted on her hips. Her hair is a tangle of dark waves, with lipstick smeared just enough to suggest a night spent in someone else's bed.
But it isn't the mess that struck them; it's the way she carried it. Alexandra looked like a beautiful, dangerous wreck: the kind of woman who could seduce you without saying a word and then walk away, leaving your world in ruins.
Peter's mouth parted slightly, his eyes darting from her face to the sway of her hips as she passed. He nudged Jane, as if to confirm he isn't imagining it. Jane didn't even glance at him. "Close your mouth before something flies in," she muttered, her tone bone-dry.
Alexandra doesn't smile, doesn't greet them. Her gaze skimmed over the two of them like they were part of the scenery. Without breaking stride, she lifted a hand in the barest hint of a wave and slipped past, her heels clicking softly against the stone path.
She crouched immediately, her voice low and warm only for the dogs. Four tails wagged furiously as she buried her fingers in their fur, murmuring to them like they were the only living beings in the world who mattered. Then she gets inside the house and slams the door without saying anything else.
Jane's phone buzzed a few minutes after, a text message from Alexandra: Need food delivery for the week. Dog sitter, too. After that, you can go back to New York.
Jane texted back, "Done. Leaving tonight."
The door swung open again. Alexandra appeared in black lingerie, utterly unconcerned with the way Peter's eyes went wide. "Jane, please buy my medicine before you leave," she said, her voice even.
"On it." Jane gave Peter a sharp kick to the leg. "Eyes up here, mister." She clapped a hand over his open mouth before he could protest. Alexandra didn't need protection; Jane knew better than anyone that her boss is more than capable of defending herself.
After Jane drove off in Alexandra's car, medicine run first, then the car wash, Alexandra made it as far as the bathroom before her body rebelled. She dropped to her knees, gripping the toilet bowl as everything in her stomach came up in violent waves. The bitter sting of tequila and chemicals burned her throat.
When it was over, she sat back against the cold tile, trembling. Her breathing came in shallow bursts. Tears blurred her vision. "Oh God, please… enough," she whispered, voice breaking. "If You won't let me meet him, then just… take me away with You."
The words hung in the air as she broke into sobs, her body folding in on itself. She felt filthy, hollow, and unworthy, as if every part of her was rotting from the inside out.
She is dangerously close to losing her sanity.