Once she steps off the balcony, I let myself out of the room and chain-smoke off the property for hours, polishing off a six-pack of beer. When I finally get back to the room, she’s sound asleep, curled beneath layers of sheets. Face calm and relaxed, as it should be. I pop a few benzos in my mouth, ensuring that I’ll sleep like the dead.

At six a.m., my alarm goes off. I’m on the carpeted floor and completely fogged up. Forcing myself awake, I drink a few cups of water out of the sink before changing my clothes and heading down to the hotel’s gym. The machines look completely new. The weight section seems as though it’s never been touched with rows of silver kettlebells in a wide range of weights, sitting neatly in size order.

Running six uphill miles on the treadmill, followed by six sets of fifty plyo push-ups on the floor, my entire body drips with sweat. The fog begins to lift. Vincent shows up midway through my workout. He must realize I’m not in the mood for conversation because he leaves me good and alone without anything more than a nod hello.

Back in the room, I still feel like a damn criminal with the way I treated Lauren. Coffee brews while I wash up in the hot shower, trying not to think about her as I soap my body. Lifting her small black shampoo bottle and opening its top, I inhale. Leaning against the wall, I drop my head against the cold marble, trying to fight through the turmoil I feel inside. But I can’t. My mind is shattered, not to be controlled. I curse, stepping back to the spray. I want this woman so fucking much, but I’m nothing but a lowlife. I refuse to live in some fantasy where Lauren would be enough to eradicate all the shit I went through overseas. In actual life, I have no choice but to drink and take meds if I want to sleep anywhere near her. I might have lost control, but I’m not delusional.

Sitting on the terrace, I make sure to position my chair, so I can see her, but she can’t see me. After my third black cup, she wakes with swollen, bee-stung lips and perfectly braided hair. Lauren sleeps in soft pink cotton shorts and a matching shirt. I stare at her long legs and beautiful arms, the bruise still wrapping around the left. A small sliver of stomach peeking out between her top and shorts has me salivating. Pulling out a cigarette, I let the smoke push down my craving for her.

I want nothing more than to mark her. Establish ownership of her body and mind. She thinks I have no clue who she is as a woman, but she thinks wrong. She’s intelligent, not selfish or simple in the least. I see how she acts to everyone around her with kindness and grace. Always reading. Making sure to check in with work so that the girl covering her doesn’t drown. Still, I need her to hate me. I don’t deserve the love of a woman like her, nor am I in the state of mind to have it.