My father died young. My mother raised me alone, and there hadn't been a single easy day in all those years. She'd scraped and sacrificed so I could make something of myself. And just when I'd finally started working, just when she should have been able to rest, they found the heart condition.

I dragged myself through the streets, exhausted down to the bone, and before I knew it I was standing outside the hotel.

I stood in the lobby feeling like a complete joke.

When the elevator doors opened, I was still telling myself to turn around and leave.

My feet carried me inside anyway.

The elevator stopped on the eighth floor without a sound.

I rang the doorbell. Cordelia had already changed into sleepwear, as though she'd been waiting. She looked at me like she'd known all along I would come.

"Come in."

I chose the chair farthest from the bed and sat down.

She must have noticed how tense I was, because she laughed out loud.

"What's the matter? Not ready yet?"

I tugged at the corner of my mouth. "What do you think?"

She poured me a glass of water and sat across from me.

"To be honest... this is my first time too."

That caught me off guard. Words rose to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them.

"You're sure you won't regret this?"

She blinked, then broke into a wide, open smile.

"I won't."

I stopped hesitating. I stood and lifted her into my arms.

She turned her face away, burying it shyly against my chest.

"Tristan."

"Yeah?"

"Be gentle. I'm scared it'll hurt..."

Her face was flushed crimson. I couldn't hold back any longer. I lowered my head and kissed her, hard.

Afterward, I lit a cigarette. My mind was blank.

Cordelia sat against the headboard, the sheets pulled up around her, quiet.

"You seem to have forgotten something."

Before I could respond, she picked up my phone and photographed the spot of red on the sheets.

"It's getting late. Take that and go report back to your boss."

I cursed myself a thousand times over, but my hands still took the phone.

"I'm sorry..."

I threw my clothes on and couldn't bring myself to look at her again.

The door slammed shut behind me. The sound was final.

I sat on the steps outside the hotel, burning through cigarette after cigarette.

My phone kept ringing. Over and over.

I stared at the screen, hesitated, and finally answered.

The voice on the other end was the same as always, dripping with a cruelty that enjoyed itself.