Instead, the man smiles one of those delicious grins he's known for. "Keep fighting, Avery. That's the only way to know you're still alive."

Shock rolls down my back, making my hackles raise higher. "You think I'm caged too? You think I'm going to be like him? Like you? You're nothing like him! He doesn't talk to you. Why should I believe a thing you say?"

"Because like calls to like and soul calls to soul. Pain that etches us to the bone leaves a mark and I see it on him, just as I see it on you. We're all the same, Call Girl. There's no escape, not for us." Trystan's words are like poems and they roll off his tongue as easily as a drop of rain falls from the sky.

"How can you live like that? Day in and day out?" I gape at him, with my brows pinched together and my heart beating hard. The man has a hole in his heart the size of his head, but he still spouts poetry that's rich with beauty and an understanding of the world that I severely lack.

Trystan laughs bitterly and runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. It's the remnants of a dying soul, I guess. The embers always burn brightest just before they go out." He sighs, and suddenly realizes he's been holding the ring that hangs around his neck. He drops it like it's hot iron, and swallows hard. "I better find some blankets. We can't turn anything on. The press is always watching for me and if this place suddenly lights up, they'll find me. And if they find me, they'll find you."

CHAPTER 6

Trystan hid some bedding and money here a few years back. He explains briefly, but doesn't tell me why. "They've been in plastic, so they have that weird scent, but it's better than sleeping on the couch. Here." He tosses me a bed in a bag, complete with pillows. He opens another one for himself and lays it on the center of the floor before plopping down in the center and kicking off his shoes. His eyes fixate on a rust-colored stain on the wall. I can't imagine the demons that must be pressing in on him from being here.

Trystan seems to like talking about philosophy, so I try. Admittedly, I suck at it. I don't have the same aptitude for it that he does. There's something about him, and the way he looks at the world, that's rare.

I lay on top of my blankets after spreading them out next to his. I lie in the dark, on my back, and tuck my hands under the pillow so they're over my head and stretch. The day's events are catching up with me and I can't bare to think about them. My gaze flicks to my shoes, which are next to me on the floor. Trystan's wearing his jeans, and strips off his shirt. The ring remains at the center of his chest, right above his heart. He never takes it off. My eyes slip over him. He's a few years younger than Sean, leaner¸ with hard muscles beneath paler skin. There's not a tattoo on him, which is weird because I would have sworn I'd seen photo-shoots with him covered in them.

"So, have you always been drawn to philosophy or is that a new thing?"

Trystan's attention had been elsewhere, lost in the past. His hands are tucked behind his neck and he's lying flat on his back. He blinks before his gaze cuts to the side. "People don't change."

"Ah, so I'll take that as a yes. And the ring? Is that part of how people don't change?" I know I shouldn't ask about it, but I do. There's no way that hairy cat is going back in the bag.

Trystan doesn't answer. He stares at the ceiling, silent. I watch his chest rise and fall. Rolling over, I curl onto my side. I don't know how he can lay like that. Every breath I take feels like a knife in my chest, digging in deeper and deeper. I lower my gaze. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Trystan's blue gaze wanders over to mine. "Let's try something different. Instead of looking behind us, let's look ahead. We're both stuck in the past. Tell me, what do you want, Call Girl? I assume this isn't the life you would have chosen."

He hasn't confided anything in me, so my answer is childish. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"Confession is good for the soul, and since yours and mine are both ailing, it seemed like a good idea. If it's too much for you, I understand. The future unnerves some people, because they have to free themselves from their past to get there."

"There's a little bit of a dichotomy going on in that brain of yours. You said there was no freedom from past actions." I waggle my eyebrows at him and smile. I understand something, and I've caught a flaw in his perfect thoughts. Score!

He smiles for a split second. "So, you were listening."

I roll onto my back and look at the yellowed ceiling. "I'm always listening. I have no idea what I'm doing half the time, but it's not from tuning everyone out."

"You're too hard on yourself."

Silence surrounds us for a long time, and then I finally say what I've thought all along. "You hardly ever say my name." He glances over at me but doesn't reply. "I remind you of her, don't I?" I remind you of the woman you lost, the one you're still in love with.

Trystan inhales deeply and rolls onto his side, facing me. "It's easier to not call you by your name. Saying a profession conjures you alone. Reaching for a name is dangerous, especially when the woman a guy is with reminds him of another." He watches me, gauging my reaction.

"What do you think will happen if you say her name by accident? Do you think I'll be offended? Or spontaneously combust? Poof." I make a fist and open it as I say the last word, before smiling at him and then shoving his shoulder when he doesn't answer. "It won't bother me."

"Ah, but it will bother me. So, it's safer this way." His smile is so sad, so tragic.

"But it keeps you trapped. You're with her, but she's not with you."

"I could say the same thing about you and Sean. You gave him your heart and he still has it, yet you're here with me." I look away. Too many painful memories blur together and I can't bear to watch them flash behind my eyes. Trystan reaches for me, taking my hand in his, and tangling our fingers together. He repeats, "The future—what do you want? Something real, not a fantasy."

He means not Sean with a picket fence and a smile on his face. After a moment, I try to picture something, anything. I finally confess, "I don't know. Everything got messed up."

I don't know what changed in that moment, but suddenly I'm telling him how my parents died, then about college, how I was worried about getting into graduate school, but I never even made it to graduation. Guilt bubbles up about Amber and Naked Guy, even though he hurt me. They both did, but it's my fault they're dead. Their lives are over, and no matter how nasty they were, the guilt is eating me alive.

Trystan takes my chin and holds my gaze. "All those things are behind you. What's ahead of you? Where do you want to go from here?" His blue eyes are a shade darker than Sean's, with flecks of amber scattered like golden coins tossed into the sea.

When he releases me, I confess, "That's just it. There is nowhere to go. I have no money, Miss Black won't let me leave, and I'm not stupid. I know she doesn't want me on Long Island to be a madam. She's lining things up so it'll look like I was the one in charge if things go to Hell and not her. She'll be protected behind her wall of thugs and filing cabinets. I'm barely a call girl, nevermind a madam."

"How many men, or uh—women—have you slept with?" He almost blushes asking the question. The way his gaze drops is so sweet and unlike anything I've ever seen him do.

I bump his shoulder. "I told you, I'm the worst call girl there ever was—I had one client, who I only slept with after falling in love with him, and the other clients didn't get sex." I laugh because it seems too ridiculous to be real.

He looks at me like it can't be true. "Are you serious? You've only been with Sean?"

I shrug. "It's not like I felt like dating after my parents died, and I didn't want to get knocked up. It would have made life impossible." My goofy smile fades and I roll onto my back, away from him, rubbing the chill off my arms. "I pushed away every guy who tried to get to know me. Well, except Marty, but he was gay."

"Was?"

"Don't get me started on that. My eye will twitch and I'll go all bitch-o on you, and I'd rather not. Remember? We're looking ahead. So, what's in your future, Rock Star?" I glance over at him and wonder what secrets he'll reveal.

Trystan is too quiet, and when I glance his way I notice how he's looking at me. I like it and I don't. Conflict rears within me, because he seems great, but – Sean.

You left Sean and Sean left you. That's over.

Trystan slides next to me and pushes up on his elbow. Looking down at me, he says, "I don't know. You tell me."

"Trystan…" I want to say no, but I can't. I want the embrace he's about to offer. I want the comfort that Sean's never given. "You're not over her."

"And you're not over him." He doesn't move. "Tell me you're not curious, that you haven't wondered about it, about me."

Through my lashes, I look up at him and tell him the truth. "Every girl alive wonders about you."

"So, one night and nothing more. A kiss to comfort, an embrace to heal a weeping heart—I'm not him—you're not her. We both know that, but we don't have to be alone." Trystan is leaning over me, his body only brushing mine when he breathes. He doesn't move. He remains poised above me, looking down. He smiles once and then it fades. "If you want me, for anything, I'm right next to you." He kisses my lips lightly, once, before he returns to his blankets.

I don't know what to do. I love Sean. I want Sean, but he's gone. I told him I couldn't do it anymore and gave him back his ring. Then he said to his mother that we were nothing, and that he was leaving. Sean's gone. That part of my life is over and thinking about it makes me want to cry, balling into my pillows.

But Trystan's words ring in my ears. Look forward. Would a night in his arms be so bad? I want to be held and told that everything will work out. I want to feel loved, and right now I don't, but there's a cure less than two feet away. I could reach out and touch his shoulder. That's all it would take.

What do I want? It's a simple question, but I don't know the answer. Actually, I know what I want, but it doesn't exist. I want Sean. I want his arms around me and I want him to do everything in his power to keep me. Instead, he handed me off and made a trade with his mother. I was gone before our bed was cold. The thought weighs heavily on my heart.

People don't change. I once thought I wanted the monster within, but it's much darker and more dominant than I thought possible. I can't handle it—I can't handle Sean—and I can't be with someone who frightens me. I don't want to be with anyone anymore, but Trystan's offer lingers in the back of my mind.

People do things like he suggested, a night together, to offer comfort and companionship. I like him, I do, but I'm not over Sean. Trystan is clearly stuck on someone else. It seems foolish to be with someone when it's not the one you want. But what do I know?

CHAPTER 7

Closing my eyes, I roll over and try to find sleep. But the water comes, and the nightmares turn real. Somewhere between wake and sleep I can't stand it any longer. I jut upright and scream, waking the man next to me. The windows glow pale yellow from the street light and I remember where I am. I can't breathe.

"Avery?" Trystan's voice is soft, and his hand gently touches my shoulder. "Are you all right?"

I shake my head, unable to speak. "I have a cure for that. Hold on." He's up, disappears, and comes back with a couple of bottles and plastic cups. "Drink up."

"What is it?"

"Something that will make you forget the pain," he looks into the cup, "for a little while anyway."

"What makes you think—"

He cuts me off. "I don't think, I know. When life punches you and you can't punch back, this is what happens. Deal with it tomorrow. For now, drink up." He pours the same mixture into his own cup and clinks it to mine before taking a swig of the contents.

I do the same and nearly spew. "Holy shitty fat cow!" My jaw hangs open as I try to get the taste out of my mouth. "What the hell is this?"

"Knockout juice. Pray the house doesn't catch fire." He takes another swig and blinks as if he can't focus.

I already feel it. My stomach is empty and this tastes like a funky mixture of hard liquor. My head feels strange, but I take another sip and can't help making faces. "This stuff tastes like tar mixed with gasoline."

"Avery, dear, stop drinking tar." He finally smiles sincerely and I see his shoulders lose some of their slump. The tension that was held deep within him begins to fade as we sit and talk about nothing.

Finally, I say, "You weren't asleep, were you?"

Staring into the bottom of an empty cup, he sighs and tosses it aside. "What makes you say that?"

"You were sitting up before I opened my eyes. I remember." I go to tap my temple and poke myself in the eye. I blink once, shocked that I missed. "I don't drink much."

"No kidding." He laughs, and then adds more seriously, "Yeah, I was up. This place is Hell. There's no peace here." He looks around like he can actually see demons crawling the walls. "That's where he smashed my head into the wall, and over there, that's where he—"

Shivering, I reach over and my fingers touch his bare skin. Trystan stops speaking and looks over at me. I feel so lost, like I'm in a freefall that will never end. I can't stand it. I need someone to hold me and whisper words of comfort in my ear. Something inside me stirs from the intensity of his gaze. When Trystan places his hand over mine he doesn't speak and neither do I.

Maybe it's the drink or maybe it's me, I can't tell, but I don't want him to let go. I want his soft, tender touches. I want him to be Sean. I want so many things that they float through my mind in a myriad of flutters, as gently as a butterfly's wing. I'm drawn to him, to those lips, and that mouth. Trystan never pretends, but this is make believe. This can't happen. We're both in love with someone else, but he doesn't let go and I don't move away.

Slowly, Trystan slides his palm up my arm to my shoulder. He tips his head to the side and says, "Come here." When his arms wrap around me, I tuck my head under his chin—the way I've wanted to with Sean so many times. As I'm held to his chest, I can hear Trystan's heart is beating hard. His skin is so warm and perfect. I stay, tracing the muscles of his bare arms down to his wrists.