Chapter 2: Phantom Touch

Kanya's POV 

The neon sign of the bar flickered, casting a blurred red glow over the sticky table. I pushed my empty glass toward the bartender and held up two fingers. 

"Kanya, stop. That is enough," Taylor said. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes full of pity. "You have had four of those. You are going to be sick." 

"I am already sick," I muttered. My tongue felt heavy. "I am sick of the way he looked at her. He didn't even stop, Taylor. He just kept kissing her like I wasn't even in the room." 

I closed my eyes, and the image burned into my lids. The blonde hair. His hands on her waist. The way he used to hold me. I reached for the fresh glass the bartender set down and downed half of it in one gulp. The burn in my throat was the only thing that felt real. 

"He is a dog," Taylor said, pulling the glass away from me. "He is not worth the hangover. Let’s go. I’m calling a car." 

"I need the bathroom," I said, sliding off the stool. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else. 

I stumbled toward the back of the bar. Inside the cramped, dimly lit restroom, I leaned against the sink and stared at my phone. My vision was swimming. I didn't think. I just scrolled through my contacts and hit the name that had been at the top for three years. 

He picked up on the third ring. 

"Kanya?" 

His voice was deep and sharp. Hearing him say my name after a day of cold silence made my heart ache. I realized in that second how much I missed the sound of it, even if the man behind the voice was no longer mine. 

"Why?" I whispered, leaning my forehead against the cold mirror. "Why, Zane? Was three years just a joke to you?" 

"You are drunk," he said. His tone shifted, becoming urgent. "Where are you?" 

"I am at the place with the red sign. The one you said was too loud for us. It’s not too loud now. It’s perfect." I started to laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. 

"Kanya, tell me exactly where you are. Is Taylor with you?" 

"Go back to Sydney," I spat. "Go back to your pregnant girlfriend. Don't worry about Miss Klopper." 

I tucked the phone into my pocket without hanging up. As I turned to leave the restroom, a man blocked the doorway. He was tall, wearing a leather jacket, and smelled like cheap cigarettes. 

"You look like you're having a rough night, sweetheart," he said, moving in until my back hit the sink. 

"Move," I said, trying to push past him. 

"Come on. I can make you feel better than whoever is on that phone." He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing my face up. He leaned in, his mouth heading for mine. 

I turned my head away and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for a kiss I didn't want. 

Instead, I heard a dull thud. 

The weight of the man vanished. I opened my eyes and saw a blur of movement. Someone had the man by his collar and slammed him against the tiled wall. A fist connected with a jaw. The man in the leather jacket groaned and slumped to the floor. 

Everything became a mess of colors and sounds. I felt strong arms wrap around my waist to keep me from falling. 

"I've got you," a voice growled. 

The world tilted. The familiar smell of expensive cologne hit my nose, mixed with the salt of my tears. I felt a wave of nausea hit me instantly. I leaned forward and retched. I didn't make it to the floor. I felt the heat of the vomit hit someone’s expensive wool coat. 

“Dammit, Kanya,” the voice said before everything went black. 

*** 

I woke up the next morning to sunlight cutting through my eyelids like a blade. I groaned and pulled the heavy duvet over my head. 

"Get up. You are going to be late," Taylor said. 

She ripped the covers away. The cold air hit my skin, making me shiver. I squinted at the clock on the bedside table. It was barely seven. 

"Drink this. Now," Taylor said. 

She hovered over me with a glass of water and two aspirin. I sat up slowly, my head throbbing with every heartbeat. 

"How did I get back to the hotel?" I asked. My voice was a ghost of itself. 

"I got you into a car," Taylor said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You were a disaster. You barely made it through the door before you passed out on the rug." 

I rubbed my temples, trying to piece the fragments together. "I called him, Taylor... I know I did. And then... I think he was there. I saw him hit that man." 

Taylor shook her head. "Kanya, you were hallucinating. Zane wasn't there. I was the one who called security to pull that creep off you. It was the guard who threw the punch, not your ex." 

"But I smelled him," I whispered. "And I threw up. I threw up on a coat. Was it your coat?" 

Taylor looked down at her denim jacket hanging on the chair. It was perfectly clean. 

"You didn't throw up on me," she said softly. "And about Zane, just think for a second, Kanya. He could not have made it there in time. He was probably at home with his new family. He wasn't there saving you." 

I laid back down and stared at the ceiling. It felt so real. The pressure of the arms holding me, the anger in the voice, the scent of his skin. 

But Taylor was right. He couldn’t have been there. And yet… it hurt like he was.