I cleared my throat, feeling the ache of all the emotion I didn’t know how to handle, and I paused at the door to my room, staring at the screen of my phone. I erased what I’d typed and started again.
I’ll be heading home this morning. I’ll see you very soon. Perhaps we can meet for drinks late tonight when I get back into town?
I finally opened the door, and I stood in the doorway, looking around and instantly regretting my decision to ask for this room. I remembered every second of my night here with Gabe. It had been a rush. I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing, and I damn well knew I was crossing all sorts of professional, ethical, and personal lines with her. But I’d done it anyway. I’d rationalized the decision to fuck Gabe as a strategic maneuver, something I could use to my benefit.
But that had only ever been part of it for me.
Because, in addition to being fully willing to use her for purely professional reasons, I’d also just wanted her for purely personal reasons. It was that simple. I might well have made an impression on her at the benefit the first night I met her, but she’d made an impression on me too. She’d watched me, she’d responded to me, she’d smiled at me, she’d laughed with me, and after I’d offended the hell out of her, she’d been hurt by me. I’d seen it all. I’d watched it unfold. And, for whatever reason, I’d been unable to wash my hands of her the way I was supposed to.
I left my laptop bag in the living room of the suite, and I dropped my suitcase on the bedroom floor before collapsing onto the bed. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and then I rolled over, kicking my shoes off my feet and tucking my hands under my cheek as I stared out the window.
I knew what I was expected to do now.
I was going to wake up early the next morning and drive my ass back to D.C. I’d pull in sometime well after dark tomorrow night, and I’d meet Hale for drinks. I’d likely meet with his group Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning, and by Wednesday, I’d be knee-deep in all things related to finance in energy security. It was a noble campaign, one I could feel good about. It had been awhile since I’d been involved in something that actually felt good from an ethical perspective. Of course, I never set the expectation that my work be ethical.
Brian McHenry, the senatorial candidate Hale and company would be endorsing, was a far cry more stable than David. There was little chance I’d be finding prostitutes in his closet. Instead, I would work hard to make the launch successful, and I’d make money doing it. I would be home. I would see my friends. I would fuck one of my casual flings on a regular basis. I would smooth things over with my parents, at least eventually. And after Consumer Alliance, another job and then another and another.
Gabe’s life would move on, and she’d get over me just as she wanted to. It would perhaps be a good life, but perhaps it wouldn’t. Maybe she’d fall in love with some other man, but perhaps she’d be done with us men and our dangly bits altogether. However her life moved on, it would be without me, and I wouldn’t get to know if she was okay, if she was happy, if she was sad, if she was hurting. It simply wouldn’t be my right to know or care anymore.
That’s what was
supposed
to happen now. That’s what was
going
to happen now. Because that’s what she
needed
now.
I picked up my phone, only just realizing I’d failed to hit Send on my response to Hale. I reread it, knowing I was sealing my fate in some way. And then I did it.
I hit Send.
I fell asleep trying not to think about her but failing miserably, and when I woke up in a start, it was three in the morning, and I was sweating and panicking. I climbed from bed and stared out the window. There was no sense delaying the inevitable. If I left now, I could escape the traffic of Chicago before the city woke up, and I could be home by early evening. And I could be far away from her, where she wanted me to be, within a few hours.
I hopped in the shower quickly, almost desperate to get out of here. I’d asked for this room to be close to my memories. They were killing me now, stabbing my brain over and over every time I turned around, every time I closed my eyes, every time I let myself think about her for even a second. I needed to put space between myself and these memories, but how do you escape something that is everywhere?
When I brushed my teeth, all I could think about was standing behind her at this very countertop. When I walked out of the bathroom, I stopped and touched the wide white woodwork surrounding the door. She’d gripped it nervously as she’d stood there naked in front of me, and when my eyes lit on the bed, my breath left my lungs. It was painfully arousing to remember gripping that headboard as I’d thrust into her.
I snatched up the phone, calling downstairs and requesting my car, and I spent the next five minutes cramming my clothes into my bag. I was practically gasping when I made it to the elevator. It was a desperate feeling, being constantly pummeled by the memories I’d so clearly set myself up to experience. I could see her standing in the elevator facing me and waiting for me to join her. She’d smiled at me, albeit sardonically, as she stood there, and thinking about that smile now was like being stabbed in the gut with the same knife that kept stabbing my brain.
“Fuck,” I muttered as I climbed in and hit the button for the lobby before I stood back, lowered my head, and closed my eyes. I had to get out of here. I was starting to panic in the strangest way imaginable. I nearly sprinted to the front door, and when the valet smiled at me, his smile fell when he took in my expression. I handed him a tip and climbed in, pulling out quickly. I listened to my breathing as I drove toward Interstate 90. It was a ragged, stuttering sound that seemed to fill the space around me and echo in my ears.
I was on Ontario, and I could see the interchange just ahead. The farthest right lane would loop me back around and deposit me on Interstate 90 southbound. That was my path out of town and toward D.C.
But there was another option. An option I shouldn’t consider. An option that didn’t make sense. An option that lacked all rational thought. An option with no certainty whatsoever. An option that, quite frankly, could destroy me.
I could stay farther to the left and head northbound on the interstate toward O’Hare, toward a different path, toward a different future.
“What the fuck,” I muttered to myself, almost angry at my own brain for forcing me to consider it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I gripped my steering wheel as the panic took over again. It was dark; the streets were as dark as I’d ever seen them, and my mind was coming apart at the seams, pulling like a tug of war was being waged in my head.
“What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?” I was acting like a lunatic; that’s what I was doing. But I couldn’t stop saying it. “What the
fuck
am I doing?”
And then I was doing it. I merged left, and I headed toward O’Hare.
“Goddamn it,” I said as a rush of breath left my lungs.
It might seem as though O’Hare would take me away from her even faster than I’d originally intended, but there was no denying I was moving toward her at top speed.
Chapter 18
Gabrielle
BY
the end of the day Monday, I’d spent hours on the phone. The school called to walk me through what to expect the next day. That was horrifying, and I’m pretty sure I had high blood pressure by the time I hung up. Essentially, I would sit in a room with the disciplinary panel and Professor Carmichael. They could, if they wished, ask me questions. I could, if I wished, decline to answer them. Professor Carmichael could make a statement on my behalf at the close of the session, but he wasn’t allowed to intercede during the questioning in any way. The panel would then take as long as they wanted to make a decision about what to do with my ass.
But here’s the catch.
They weren’t necessarily going to be deciding whether to expel me or not. That threw me for a loop. Apparently there was every chance they’d wait to see if more concrete information came out about my involvement with David. It made sense, I supposed. For instance, if I were charged with a crime in relation to this mess, expulsion would likely be a no-brainer for the committee. But what if I wasn’t charged and the story fizzled? How would the committee backpedal after essentially destroying my academic career? From the sounds of it, the committee was likely…well, deciding what to do with the naughty little student in the meantime.
There was no guarantee anything more than reputation-shattering allegations would ever surface. But until that was known for sure, the school had to “act in the best interest of the entire student body.” I was getting a little tired of hearing that phrase, but it seemed to pop up constantly.
What the hell did that mean? Did they think I was going to start handing out flyers advertising prostitution as a great after-school job? Were they concerned I was going to start screwing the faculty, blowjobs for good grades, what? Apparently I was some indefinable threat, and until they could see where this whole mess was going to go, they just plain didn’t know what to do with me.
I hung up with Barbara, the sweet disciplinary hearing coordinator who made the whole process sound like an exciting adventure into hell with the kindest voice I’d ever heard. She actually made me smile…twice.
The second hour of my phone time on Monday was spent with Professor Carmichael, who filled me in on a few more details and, more or less, scared the shit out of me while telling me it was going to be okay.
“It’s important that you don’t admit fault, Gabe. Do you understand? The panel has no real right to try what could end up being a criminal matter, and you’re under no obligation to help them build a case based on supposition and facts that haven’t yet come to light. This is not a criminal trial, even if it feels like one.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding and instantly gnawing on my thumbnail.
“If you don’t admit fault, then they’re stuck deciding what to do with you until more information comes to light. They may very well make the decision to expel you later based on criminal filings, but right now, it’s all about the interim period of time.”
I was still nodding. “Yes. I got that impression when I spoke to the school earlier.”
“But keep in mind, and this is very important, Gabe, if you admit culpability, they will have no choice but to rule in favor of expulsion.”
“Okay.”
“As long as you don’t give them any ammunition to use against you, they will either allow you to remain in school, due to a lack of sufficient proof that you’ve violated the student code of conduct, or they will give you an interim suspension pending further investigation. They could possibly expel you outright, but they’d have a lot of explaining to do later on if nothing ever comes of this from a criminal standpoint, so I would find it highly unlikely they’ll choose expulsion at this point.”
“But what about this ‘interim suspension pending further investigation’? What does that mean?”
“In truth, nothing. It means you’re on suspension, and the school sits back and waits for further developments. That’s what we’re trying to avoid because that could severely impact your ability to graduate on time, or even graduate at all. But the school gets pressure from uptight, paranoid parents in these instances, and they end up being pushed to do something just to make the parents feel more secure.” He chuckled. “It’s ridiculous when you think about it. Parents have no legal rights in these matters because their children are adults, and yet the school will nearly always bow to their expectations because parents often control the purse strings.”
“Ah, the ‘act in the best interest of the entire student body’ clause.”
Professor Carmichael hummed. “You’ve clearly gotten the party line from administration.”
“Yes, I’m afraid.”
“Well, expulsion is by far the very worst thing that could happen, and it may well happen at some point before we can get you graduated, but the real hurdle tomorrow is getting them to allow you to remain an active student. Innocent until proven guilty needs to be
your
party line.”
“Okay.”
“So when they ask you questions, you need to focus not on the allegations against you but your desire to be a productive student and complete your education. I would simply state that you’re not willing to discuss the allegations that have been lodged against you in the media and the court of public opinion and that you urge the panel to see you as a young woman trying her best to complete her education so you can move on from this chapter of your life.”
“Right. Okay.” I was nodding stupidly again. “Yes. Can you…can you repeat that?”
He chuckled for a moment. “You understand the gist. Just use your own words. The point is you’re neither denying nor admitting guilt here.”
“Got it.”
“You’re going to get through this, Gabe.” Professor Carmichael’s voice had lost the driven, direct sound, and he was back to his usual calm, supportive tone. “You know I’ve been worried about you for a while. You don’t have to tell me anything. You certainly don’t owe me an explanation, but you know you can talk to me if you ever need to.”
I bit my nail again, staring out Jessa’s bedroom window. “No offense, but talking about this mess to…I don’t know…men in general, just…” I shook my head. “Sorry.”
“I get it. We’re the enemy, huh? That’s a hard mentality for a woman to recover from.”
I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see me.
“But it’s a mentality, Gabe. Not a truth. You won’t be better for it if you hold people at arm’s length, and that’s what you’ve been doing for a while now.”
“Not everybody,” I said quietly.
Professor Carmichael hummed thoughtfully but was then silent for a moment. “Sometimes it takes a leaky roof collapsing on you before you’ll finally fix the leak. But the leak gets fixed all the same. This may not be ideal, but at least you have the opportunity to get back on track.”
“Well…maybe. I guess we’ll see how it goes tomorrow morning.”