Split

Chapter seventeen

When I wake up, Maya is gone.

I sit up slowly, groaning as my back twinges from sleeping on the floor. I glance around the room, noticing her absence first. Then, the lack of her things. No suitcase, no dress haphazardly thrown over the armchair in the corner, no glass of water on the nightstand that I brought out for her from the bathroom last night.

It's as if she was never even here, as if the events of last night were a fever dream.

I glance down my body, scowling at my cock, standing at full attention in my sweats. I try to will the erection away, but it's no use. I've been hard since the moment Maya agreed to come upstairs with me.

More than just my body aches as I rise to my feet. I ease weight onto my left leg, feeling the repercussions of dancing so much yesterday. It's not that bad, though. A few days of taking it easy should do the trick.

I take a tentative seat on the bed, falling back onto the messy covers, and Maya's distinctively citrus scent envelopes me. Running both hands down my face, I let out a huge breath.

What the fuck did I do?

I didn't intend to kiss her when we stepped out on the dance floor. Honestly, very little of last night went according to plan. Especially the part where Maya crab-walked up the bed to get away from me, air sawing in and out of her lungs, horror painted in every crevice of her face.

I can't have sex with you.

I groan, get up, and get dressed. I want to talk to her, and for that to happen, I need to check out of this godforsaken hotel room and figure out where she is. I have a slight hope that she sneaked out at some point in the night and crashed somewhere else. Like with one of Davis' sisters, whom she was getting along with great last night.

Or maybe it's more recent. She may have woken up earlier than me and gone down to breakfast.

I hurry packing up my shit, absolutely no intention of returning here again, and then I hightail it down to the breakfast buffet. I need to smooth things out, understand just how much I fucked up last night, and what I need to do to make it better. I promised I would still be here, even if it all went to shit, and I intend to live up to that promise.

I turn my back to the elevator doors resolutely while on the way down. I can't watch my reflection in them without seeing Maya pressed against me, her breathing labored, body pliant under my hands. Shit.

I rush into the restaurant where breakfast is served for the wedding guests today, my eyes scanning the room, taking in every face quickly. Then, once more, slower, coming to the same conclusion: she isn't here.

My heart drops in my chest. She actually left.

I might have sworn I would still be here, but now that my brain isn't hazy with lust, I realize that Maya made no such promise.