Show Me...

~Bonnie

I woke up before the alarm, body already humming with anticipation and dread in equal measure.

The house was quiet, Mum still asleep, probably dreaming about white dresses and forever. I lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles, replaying last night’s dinner like a movie I couldn’t pause.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered cold this time. I dressed simply in fitted black blouse tucked into high waisted jeans that hugged my hips, thin gold chain at my neck, the one Mum gave me for my birthday, my hair pulled into a low bun, glasses on.

I took my phone and deleted my chats with Marcellus and then I blocked his number.

By 10:30 I was out the door, telling Mum I had an early study group. She kissed my cheek, told me to be safe, reminded me she loved me. I smiled like everything was normal.

The cab ride felt endless. The traffic crawled, horns blaring. I stared out the window, watching people live normal lives while mine cracked open at the seams.

I arrived at campus at 10:55. The literature building looked the same, old brick, cracked steps.

I climbed the stairs slowly. Each step echoed. My heart kept time. His office door was closed.

I knocked once softly, no answer. I knocked again. Harder.

Still nothing. I tried the knob, it turned.

The door swung open.

The room was empty. Desk neat. Bookshelves untouched. No sign of him. No note. No phone left behind.

I stepped inside, and closed the door behind me.

I stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around myself, breathing shallow.

Where was he?

Then I sat on the edge of his desk, the same spot he’d had me yesterday and waited.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

I was about to leave when the door handle turned. He stepped in. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just enough. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes, jaw tight but when he saw me sitting there, something shifted. Relief? Hunger? Both?

He closed the door and locked it again. “Bonnie.”

I didn’t move. “You’re late.”

“I had to cancel a class. I needed to see you.” I laughed, short, sharp.

“You saw me last night. At dinner. With my mother. Your fiancee.”

He exhaled through his nose, ran a hand over his beard. “I didn’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear to you. I didn’t know. Your mother never showed me pictures of her daughter. She called you Bon Bon. I never connected it. Not until I kissed your hand and looked up.”

I stared at him. Searched his face for lies. Found none. Only the same shock I’d felt.

“So what now?” I asked quietly. “You call it off? Tell her it’s over?”

He stepped closer. Stopped when he was close enough for me to smell him again. I left his front and shifted back.

I stood there in the middle of his office, arms crossed tight over my chest like they could hold everything inside.

“I can’t do this,” I said, voice low but steady. “I won’t hurt her. She loves you, Marcellus. She’s happy, really happy for the first time in forever. I’m not going to be the reason that breaks.”

He exhaled, slow, like the words had punched him. “Bonnie…”

“No.” I cut him off. “I love my mum more than I want you. More than whatever this is. So you end it. You tell her it’s over. You make up whatever excuse you need, work, distance, you’re not ready but you end it. Clean. No mess. No truth. She never knows.”

His eyes searched mine, dark and conflicted. “I can’t.”

The word landed like a brick.

I blinked. “What? You wanna marry my mum after you fucked me?”

“I can’t end it with her,” he said quietly. “She’s… she’s good for me. She’s steady. Kind. After years of being alone, she makes me feel like I could actually build something real. I’m not going to throw that away. Not even for this.”

“For this?” I repeated, voice cracking. “You mean for me. For what we did. For what you did to me on that desk yesterday.”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes. For that. For you. But I’m not choosing between you two. I want both. I want her happiness. And I want you. The way you look at me, the way you give yourself over, the way you come apart when I touch you, it’s not something I can walk away from. I’ve tried to pretend it’s just sex. It’s not.”

I stared at him. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not letting either of you go. Not yet. We can be careful. Discreet. She doesn’t need to know. We keep this separate, quiet. Just us.”

I laughed short, broken. “You think I can sit across from you at dinner, call you stepdad, watch you kiss my mum goodnight, and then sneak into your office the next day so you can fuck me on your desk? You think I can live like that?”

He stepped closer. “I think you already did yesterday. And you came back today.”

The truth stung worse than the slap I wanted to give him. I turned to leave and reached for the door.

His hand caught my shoulder.

I spun around fast, palm connecting with his cheek before I could stop it. The slap echoed sharp in the small room.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. He just looked at me, red mark blooming on his skin, eyes steady.

Tears burned behind my own eyes, hot and fast. “Don’t touch me,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Not like that. Not ever again. Not while you’re still hers.”

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, turned, yanked the door open, and walked out.

The corridor blurred through tears. I didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down. I just kept moving, down the stairs, out the building.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

I walked until the campus gates disappeared behind me, until the noise outside swallowed the echo of that slap, until the tears dried on my cheeks.

I loved my mum. And right now, that had to be enough.

Even if it meant losing him. Even if it meant pretending yesterday never happened.

Even if every part of me screamed to turn around and beg him to choose me instead.

I texted Bianca that I wouldn’t be in class.

“I'm ot feeling well. Catch you later.”

She replied almost instantly, “You okay? Call me if you need me.”

I didn’t answer.

Instead I headed straight to the club on the east side, the one with the low lights and the bass that rattles your ribs.

It was not even noon, but the place was open for the early crowd, people who didn’t want to wait for night to forget whatever was eating them.

I slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, away from the handful of regulars nursing their regrets.

“Vodka soda,” I told the bartender. “Double.”

He nodded, no questions. Smart man.

The drink arrived cold and clear. I downed half in one go, felt the burn slide down my throat and settle in my chest like a second heartbeat.

The slap still echoed in my palm. The tears had dried, but the ache hadn’t.

I was on my second when a guy appeared.

Tall. Cute. Dark skin that caught the dim purple lights like velvet. Broad shoulders under a fitted black tee, easy smile, the kind that said he knew he looked good and didn’t mind if you noticed.

The only real difference between him and Marcellus was the color of his skin and the fact that this guy didn’t have that quiet, dangerous calm, like he could ruin you with a look and make you thank him for it.

He leaned one elbow on the bar next to me, close enough that I caught the clean scent of his cologne, nothing heavy.

“Hottie,” he said, voice smooth, playful. “You look like you’re drinking to forget something. Or someone.”

I glanced at him sideways. “Maybe both.”

He chuckled low. “Fair. Mind if I sit?”

I shrugged. “Free country.”

He slid onto the stool, ordered a whiskey neat. When the glass arrived, he raised it toward me. “To forgetting.”

I clinked mine against his. “To surviving.”

We drank in silence for a minute. The bass from the speakers pulsed through the floor, steady like a heartbeat.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked eventually. “Or you just want company?”

I looked at him really looked. His eyes were warm, curious, no judgment. No ownership. No hidden agendas I could see.

“Company,” I said. “For now.”

He nodded. “Cool. I’m Jay.”

“Bonnie.”

He smiled again, slow, genuine. “Nice to meet you, Bonnie.”

We talked. Not deep. Not about professors or mums or slaps that still stung my hand. We talked about stupid things, the worst drink he’d ever ordered, the song that always got him on the dance floor, how Baltimore winters made you question every life choice.

He laughed easy, listened harder. When he leaned in to hear me over the music, his arm brushed mine, accidental, warm, nothing like the electric jolt of Marcellus’s touch.

But it was something. A distraction. A reminder that the world didn’t stop spinning just because my heart felt cracked open.

After the third drink, he tilted his head. “You wanna get out of here? Not like that, just air. Walk. There’s a spot by the harbor that’s quiet this time of day.”

I ignored him like I didn't hear.

The club lights pulsed low, red and violet bleeding across his dark skin like liquid fire. Jay leaned in closer, breath warm against my ear over the bass. “You’ve been staring at me like you’re deciding something dangerous.”

I laughed, nervous, the vodka loosening my edges. “Maybe I am.”

His hand found my waist, slow, testing. Firm enough to feel the heat through my dress. “Dark men got a reputation on bed, huh?” he murmured, lips brushing my neck. “Vibrant. Active. You curious?”

My pulse hammered. I’d never crossed that line. Never wanted to be that bad girl.

But his fingers slid lower, tracing the curve of my hip, pulling me flush against him. Hard. Ready.

I whispered, “Show me.”

He smiled against my throat. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The exit door clicked shut behind us.