He’d probably have to leave the party soon and retreat to his hotel room to sleep all the sorghum liquor off. Even this May 25th detail hadn’t been left to chance. Victor had booked a room in New York, a city three hours away from Providence, just to make sure he wouldn’t go to her before the morning of May 26th.

He had been trying and failing not to go to her for seven years now. Seven years!

Victor thought he’d learned his lesson the second year. And, he’d put in place a promise that he was sure would inspire him to finally acquire some willpower when it came to Dawn.

He couldn’t take her art school away from her until he managed to go one anniversary without visiting her. It should have worked. But no, he’d caved on the third year.

He’d tried and failed not to show up on their anniversary for all four years of her undergrad, rendering the deal he’d made with himself mute (some pun intended).

Or so he’d thought.

His blood had frozen over in early May when he opened up her bank account to find an even larger deduction taken out from RhIDS than the one for her senior year. This time the money was going toward grad school.

The little minx had decided to get an MFA. It seemed to Victor both a challenge and a chance to redeem himself.

An opportunity he would not let slip through his hands this time.

Thus, he teetered into that bathroom, feeling like a winner, despite his inebriated state.

However, standing proved to be difficult, bordering on impossible. He could barely keep his eyes open after pulling himself out for his leak. He swayed dangerously, threatening to topple into sleep right there at the toilet.

He needed something to distract him. So he brought out his phone. He would check the feed just one more time, Victor told himself. Then he would go back out to the party, say goodbye to Han and Phantom, and retire to his hotel room.

Victor rarely made use of his voice. But he laughed out loud with triumphant glee when he saw her on the screen. She had already gone to bed, and her room was completely dark. Problem solved.

Until…

For many years afterward, he wondered what would’ve happened if she had continued to sleep.

If she hadn’t switched on the light, flipped onto her back, and thrown off those covers.

If her hand hadn’t slipped underneath the band of her panties.

If after a few languorous strokes, she hadn’t begun to moan, “Victor. Oh, God… Victor.”