Hooked (Hooked #1)(18)

Melissa stepped back, her eyes wide at me. She had never seen me speak so forcefully. “I see,” she said. “Listen, Molly. I know you don’t have a lot of people to talk to in the city.”


Was it that obvious? Did I reek of loser?

“But I want you to know that you can come to me for advice on anything, at any time. Even if that piece of advice is—well—you know. Rooted in your sexual encounters with this rich guy.” She winked at me, then, trying to remind me that there was something to live for, after all. The words seemed hollow in my ears.

Mel left not long after that, noting that she had to pick her son up from the babysitter. I thanked her for being there today, reminding her that the following day’s schedule was a bit different. She nodded; she had never forgotten anything about Molly Says Dance, anyway. I didn’t know why I doubted her.

When I finished shredding the last of the pieces of paper, I tossed them in the recycling, pushed my arms through my coat, and rushed out into the windy city. I locked the building behind me, although I didn’t know why. It wasn’t mine anymore. I had nothing to protect. It was like my heart; I was locking it, but it was ultimately going to be raped by someone or something.

The red brick of the building that rose into the sky was so ancient, so beautiful. I rubbed my fingers against the harsh material and then began the short walk back to my apartment. The air felt shriller than it had the previous evening, when I had been out with Drew. The autumn was folding into the September month, although I didn’t want it to. I wanted to retain the sweetness of the summer. I sighed, thinking about Drew once more, how perfect our bodies had been together!

I arrived at my apartment when the city began to erupt into its evening lights. The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, and there was something ancient, something mystical about the evening. I felt no brightness, only a sense of evil lurking beneath every shadow.

I shuffled up the four floors to my apartment, feeling my heart beating heavy in my chest. I pulled out my keys and had to stare at them for several moments before realizing—ah ha—which one was actually my house key. I felt strange, soft, as if I was drunk.

I hustled into my apartment, hearing the burdened meows from the corner. Shit. I had forgotten to come home earlier in the day to feed Boomer. I hadn’t been home in over twenty-four hours, and I was certain he was so hungry. I hurried toward him, picking him up in my arms. He looked at me with bright, yellow eyes. Was he angry? I felt his fur, the soft kind around his face, and kissed the top of his head. He smelled comforting, like home. He meowed in my ear, then, and I rushed to the kitchen to fill his bowl. He ate heartily, bringing each of the kibble bits into his mouth and chomping away with tiny, rodent-like teeth.

I searched my refrigerator for something to eat for myself, but I came up empty. I realized I had been neglecting much of my life in the wake of this Drew realization. In the back of the freezer, I found whiskey, and I poured it languidly into my short glass. I felt like my grandfather once more—drinking whiskey like an old man of the west.

My balcony was positioned directly off from my living room. I pushed the door open, feeling the absurd wind wash over me initially before filtering away—as if it were a warning. I looked back toward my cat who continued to eat ravenously, grabbed a blanket from the couch, and curled up on the floor of the balcony—on the stone, leaning heavy against the railings. I reached into my coat pocket, where I kept a half a pack of cigarettes, always. I opened it, noting that the pack still had the same hearty number it had had the previous month; 10 cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked in over thirty days. But I needed one, in that moment. I lit the end of it, sticking it in the side of my mouth and inhaling. I felt the fire in my throat, down in my lungs. But I liked the pain. It forced my brain away from the issue at hand.

I was f*cked.

It was true. I inhaled the smoke and exhaled it in intricate smoke rings—something I had learned as a ballerina at Butler, when eating was no option but smoking was the ultimate lunch break. I curled back against the railings, further and further, hearing the spattering of horns, of traffic beneath me. God, I loved this neighborhood. God, I loved cigarettes. I peered up above me at the stars. I could hardly see them, given the intensity of the lights below. But there they were, like small bits of salt in a greater sea of pepper. Orion. That bright, North star. I pumped a few more smoke rings into the world, remembering how I hadn’t eaten a single morsel of solid food for an entire winter, only turning toward cigarettes and protein shakes for life-fulfillment.

“Maybe if I just had never started eating again, I could have become a real ballerina,” I muttered to myself, tapping my feet against the stone. But it couldn’t be that way. It was too late. I was going to be twenty-five in the next year. It was over.


And now, I was losing my Molly Says Dance studio. I was losing my last chance. I would have no money to pay for this apartment, for anything. Perhaps I would have to divert to no-eating. But I would look ragged, enraged, and homeless in that stunning portrayal of my future.

I felt like crying. I was the exact opposite of the woman I had been the previous evening, when Drew had me up against the window, all of the city beneath my naked frame.

I was muttering to myself when I heard further murmurings, a bit of raucous laughter on the other side of my balcony, around the corner. Someone else was outside. I twitched to the right to try to hear them more clearly. I certainly saw their cigarette smoke as it emanated over the balcony and into the city.