Page 2 of Candy Cane Chains
My reflection in the mirrored walls mocks me. Black mascara is already smudging beneath my eyes as I try to wipe the tears before they fall. The Santa hat sits crooked, making me look like a drunk party girl at last call. White fur trim is bunched around my chest where I yanked at it, desperate for air. The velvet dress that emptied my wallet now feels as cheap as a Halloween costume.
I reach up to rip off the stupid hat, but my hands shake too hard to find the clips. It just shifts more askew. A sob builds in my chest, threatening to tear me apart.
The elevator counts down floors with cheerful dings. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Each number brings a fresh wave of humiliation. What was I thinking, showing up like this? Playing dress-up like some desperate fool while he- while they-
Another sob escapes. I catch a glimpse of my stockings in the mirror, the white now reminding me of surrender flags. The seductive smile I practiced for hours has dissolved into something raw and broken.
Twelve. Eleven. Ten.
That damn song still plays through the speakers, following me down, down, down.
I burst through the lobby doors, winter air slapping my tear-streaked face. Snow drifts down in fat flakes, coating my bare shoulders. The parking garage looms ahead - a concrete monster where my Prius sits waiting, three levels up.
My heels slip on the slick pavement. I kick them off, snatching them up with trembling fingers. The rough concrete bites into my stockinged feet through thin nylon. Better than breaking an ankle.
The garage echoes with my ragged breathing as I race up the ramps. Each step sends jolts through my legs, but physical pain is better than the knife twisting in my chest. Level one. Two. Three.
My car chirps as I hammer the key fob. I throw myself inside, cranking the heat. The Santa hat finally comes off, tearing strands of hair with it. I hurl it into the backseat.
Main Street glows with holiday lights as I peel out of the garage. Red and green reflections dance across my windshield, distorted by tears and falling snow. My phone buzzes in the cup holder - Travis's face lighting up the screen. I silence it without looking.
I don't know what to do. I can't go home - I live with Travis. What I really need it a fucking drink-
It hits me. Sophie texted me earlier about the Secret Santa party at O'Malley's. It's our annual tradition where our friend group exchanges gifts and drinks too much eggnog. I'd planned to skip it, thinking I'd be with...
My hands clench the steering wheel. The alternative is going home to my empty apartment, where everything reminds me of him - or worse, he might come to find me. And I am not going to sit alone when I look this damn good after knowing he hasn't been alone all fucking week.
I hang a sharp left at the next light, tires sliding slightly in the slush. O'Malley's is only ten minutes away. Right now, getting drunk with friends sounds infinitely better than any other scenario I can come up with.
The snow falls harder as I navigate the quiet streets. Christmas lights blur into streaks of color through my windshield. More Christmas music follows me from another car's radio at a stoplight, and I punch the gas when it turns green, leaving the melody behind.
I pull into an empty spot across from O'Malley's, the neon shamrock in the window casting a sickly green glow across my dashboard. My hands tremble as I flip down the visor mirror. God, I'm a mess. Mascara tracks paint dark rivers down mycheeks, and my carefully curled hair has gone limp from the snow.
As I fix myself up, Travis's name flashes across my phone screen again - the fifteenth call in ten minutes. Each buzz feels like another twist of the knife. His text messages scroll past.
Baby please answer.
It meant nothing.
Let me explain.
Where are you?
The screen lights up with his face - a photo from happier times, his arms around me at the beach last summer. I snatch the phone and power it off completely, shoving it into the glove compartment like it's contaminated. The slam echoes in my quiet car.
I drag a tissue from my clutch, dabbing at the mascara tracks. The velvet of my dress feels scratchy against my skin now, but I refuse to let him send me running home to change. I reapply my red lipstick with shaking hands, pressing my lips together until they stop quivering.
"You're fine," I whisper to my reflection. "You're fine, you're fine, you're fine."
My fingers rake through my hair, arranging it to hide the tear-dampened strands at my temples. The snowflakes caught in it have melted, leaving it slightly damp but workable. I even fix my hat back on top of my head, trying to fix it so it looks cute again. I adjust the sweetheart neckline of the dress, squaring my shoulders and shoving my feet back into the candy cane heels.
The cold hits me as I push open my car door, but I welcome it. The icy air helps clear my head, washing away the stuffy scent of Travis's cologne that somehow still clings to my skin. My heels sink slightly in the fresh snow as I step onto the sidewalk, clutch pressed against my side like armor.
Music and laughter spill from O'Malley's open door. I take a deep breath, tasting winter on my tongue. My hand pauses on the door handle as another wave of humiliation threatens to overwhelm me. But I refuse to let him win. Not tonight.
2
JULIAN