Stunned, I remember standing in the doorway. I couldn't believe he didn't hate me, and I couldn't believe he wasn't disgusted by me. I think he should've been. I think I would've been disgusted by him if he was fantasizing about another woman while with me.
Eventually, Alexander walked back up to me, took my hand and led me to my dining room table to sit. Smiling again, he shook his head at my confusion, kissed my lips quickly and walked back to my very active kitchen. Cooking and smiling, Alexander kept looking back at me like he was afraid I'd bolt on him or something. But I didn't.
If there had ever been a moment I questioned his loyalty and care for me it was rapidly vanishing in that moment. I remember thinking, if my sexually ridiculous behavior from the day before didn't scare him away, I realized I was honestly starting to believe he would stay with me through anything.
An hour later, Alex served me a fabulous meal. And I remember moaning once, then quickly remembering the last time I moaned in that exact chair. And as I instantly quieted with my total embarrassment, Alex's head snapped up, he looked at me like he was going to jump me then and there, and then he smiled and said, “I love that sound from you, Sade. Please don't stop moaning on my account,” as I nearly choked to death on my veal when he grinned. And then he continued eating.
After dinner and the tedious clean up, thankfully, Alex acted the same. He kissed me and he left. He said he'd call me the next day and that he wanted to make plans with me over the weekend.
He acted normal, and I found myself acting normal in return. And we were. For the next three weeks, he came and went, while I stayed sober, and quiet. He did most of the talking, and all of the planning, and I agreed to follow along.
For the next 3 weeks we were normal... until our trip to Toronto.
CHAPTER 23
After much discussion about no expectations, Alexander finally picked me up Thursday afternoon to drive the couple hours to Toronto. We had the hotel booked for three nights because the cooking seminar went from Friday through to Sunday afternoon, after which we would drive back home Sunday evening.
Before the trip we discussed the seminar, and the food, and the beautiful hotel we were staying in. We talked about the places we would walk and visit after the seminars. We talked of dinner in the hotel and at a few of the local restaurants. We spoke about everything trip related, except for the obvious.
We discussed no expectations- until the lack of expectations actually became the expectation.
When Alex picked me up, he carried my small luggage to his car, while talking excitedly about the seminar. He had looked up the requirements and the planned menus and food preparation we would be required to participate in. He teased me mercilessly about my lack of cooking skills and how he would pick up the slack for us if we were partnered up, which I hoped we were. To my humor, he even offered to help cook my own menu items when Chef Mancini had his back turned, so we didn't accidentally kill anyone.
Alexander was in good spirits as usual, and I found myself relatively light hearted as well because of his mood.
To say I didn't think about the sleeping arrangement would be a lie. I did. Frequently. Always. When I least expected it, I thought of all the potential and the fear almost got to me, but then I was distracted by something Alex said and I would forget momentarily my sexual anxiety. Regardless of my perpetual thoughts, eventually we arrived, and Alexander was wonderful as usual.
When we made our way to our room, Alex held my hand while carrying his duffel bag, and wheeling my small luggage. He opened our door, looked inside, smiled, and pulled me in with him. After dropping our bags on the desk in the corner, he immediately walked us to the window, which I had assumed from the name, had a beautiful view of the harbor front, and it did.
When I stood in front of the window, Alex turned himself until he was behind me, wrapped his arms around my stomach, leaned into my shoulder and whispered, “Thank you for this amazing gift, Sadie. I promise you won't regret it.” But immediately I did.
I don't know why, but my whole body tensed up and I felt sickness grow inside me. I felt irritable, and confused, and shaken. I was too anxious suddenly, and I think Alexander picked up on my change of mood quickly.
Letting me go suddenly, he kissed my cheek, took my hand again and started for the door. Following, I was curious as I tried to even out my mood.
“Let’s go to dinner. I made us a reservation when we checked in. Sound good?” And I nodded because the alternative was crying at that point. So we left for dinner.
Once in the restaurant, I remember being totally restless. I didn't know why, other than the obvious- I was nervous and overwhelmed by my situation.
I remember believing this was it for us- one way or the other. I think I truly believed I had to be with Alex to keep him at that point. I think he needed something from me emotionally and sexually to keep him interested. I think I was sure that would be our last weekend together if I didn't put out. I think I was sure he would abandon our weird, pseudo-friendship with kissing benefits if there wasn't more for him, no matter how many times he had said he had no expectations.
So after ordering, I excused myself feigning a need for the washroom after the long drive, but I bee-lined for the bar near the entrance instead. Quickly ordering a double vodka and orange, with 2 extra shots of vodka, I kicked them back as quickly as possible. I remember even dribbling the drink down my chin in a bid to swallow as quickly as I could. Afterward, I casually walked back to Alex as I felt the alcohol warmth radiate through me.
When our dinner arrived, I ordered a glass of wine suddenly. And though I saw Alexander quickly look at me, like he was gauging why I ordered wine, he didn't say anything.
And so we ate, as Alex spoke of his family, and friends, and his graduate studies, and I was interested in all of it. I wanted to know what he was going to do, and what he wanted in life. I was interested to know what his lifelong goals and expectations were.
Just before dessert, I actually did have to use the washroom, so again I excused myself. And repeating the process, I used the washroom first, and followed with another stop at the bar. Ordering the same, I drank the 2 shots first, then thought I would finish with the drink. And I almost made it.
But halfway through my double vodka and orange, Alexander suddenly held me from behind and took my glass and hand into his own when I went to lift it back to my parched mouth.
“Why, Sadie?” I remember was all he whispered in my ear.
And totally busted, I panicked. I absolutely panicked in his arms with his breath next to my face, and his weight holding me against the bar, while his warmth and the warmth of the vodka threatened to strangle me.
Crying out a choke, I couldn't even speak. I remember having no words in that moment. I had no excuses, nor events to blame, like I used to. There was nothing. There was absolutely no external factor to cause this mistake except for weakness- plain and simple. And I was weak.
With tears sliding down my face, I held it all in until Alex moved to my side and sat on a barstool close to me. Still holding the drink, I pulled it away from his hand, and like a disgusting lush, I quickly kicked back the liquor straight down my throat as he watched.
Bracing myself, I finally turned my face toward his and what I saw in that moment broke me. He wasn't mad, and he wasn't disappointed. He wasn't disgusted or embarrassed. And he wasn't even judging me. Alex was simply waiting for my answer because he honestly wanted to know why. He was trying to understand me, which actually felt worse.
“I don't know...” escaped my lips, because that's all I could say.
“You do know. So tell me. I want to know why.”
“I don't, I swear,” I pleaded.
“Tell. Me. Why.” He suddenly demanded while getting very close to my face. “Talk.” But I still couldn't explain. “Tell me WHY,” he demanded again, but I still couldn't move or speak.
When Alex suddenly raised his hand to the bartender I was surprised. Asking her for a bott
le of Vodka, she told him she couldn't do that, so he demanded instead 5 shots of vodka and 2 vodka and oranges, which apparently she could do.
Still not speaking, I didn't move. I had no idea what he was up to, and I couldn't figure out his intentions. I didn't know what to do, so I stayed perfectly still as she poured the shots and drinks in front of us.
When the bartender finally walked away, Alexander handed me a shot and barked, “Drink it”. And I would love to say that I didn't. I would love to remember a moment of strength. I would love to recall me taking a stand and declining the shot, but I didn't.
Like the weak idiot I was, I took the shot he offered and drank it, quickly followed by another one. I even grabbed for a third, but Alex put his hand over the shot glass, and waited for me to fight him I think. But I didn't fight him because I really had no fight in me. So after the shots I just waited for him to make a move.
“Tell me why you needed to drink,” he again asked right in my face. But I shook my head no. “Sadie, I want you to tell me, right fucking now.”
And when he raised his hand from the shot, I quickly snatched it up and drank it because I had no shame in that moment. I had no shame left.
“Tell me why you did this?” He asked again as I kicked back the 4th shot.
And it was that shot that I knew was going to kill me. I remember that feeling. I remember when I would drink until I felt the last drink that was going to mess me up. The drink that was going to make me puke or pass out. That one drink, be it the 8th or the 15th drink that was going to send me over the edge of numbingly drunk, to hammered without control. And that last shot was the one.
“Alex... I'm going to be sick soon,” I pleaded.
“Good. Talk.” But I still couldn't. “Sadie, I want to know why you had to get drunk and hide it from me. I want to know what I did to make you like this.” Oh, god.
“You didn't. I wasn't. It's not you...” I moaned.
“Why?”
“I'm fine. Sorry. I made a mistake,” I again stated even as my body shook and my mind struggled between one reality and the next.
“Answer. The. Question. What happened?”
And then my stomach started turning, and my hands began shaking, and my legs were bouncing on the barstool rung, and everything was starting to spin, and I felt lightheaded, and hot and chilled, and I tried to remember what I drank, and I remembered the first double and two shots and the glass of wine and then the 2 shots before the second double and then the shots with Alex and then I wanted to cry and scream and hit him, and beg him to like me anyway.
And finally, unbearably, the pressure grew and grew with his light blue eyes staring at my face even as I tried to not look at his, and then everything just grew and built and grew until I was choking on the alcohol and gagging down the words, and begging him with my eyes to leave me alone, even as I tried to get off the barstool that his leg and arm had me trapped in, until I just exploded.
“I was scared you would fuck me or rape me or hate me and leave me after this weekend. I DON'T KNOW!” I screamed as I suddenly pitched backward trying to escape.
“Sadie!” He yelled as he caught me and pulled me into his lap as I suddenly threw up on the floor.
When I heard the bartender yelling at us, and Alexander trying to lift me into his arms while trying to kind of drag me away from the bar at the same time, I wanted to help him. I really did try to help, but I felt my feet drag behind me, even as I tried to work my legs. When Alex pulled me into the women's washroom, he forced me into the stall, and pushed my head into the toilet. Gagging and throwing up again, I was a mess, and I knew it.
Begging, “I'm so sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to,” I cried.
And I remember I really didn't mean to do anything like that. I just wanted to take the edge off my worry. I didn't mean to get that drunk, and I probably wouldn't have been if he'd just left me alone to drink. But he made me drink those last shots. He made me get that drunk, so I thought it was his fault.
“You did this to me,” I moaned.
“Yup. I did this,” he answered sounding bored.
“You did. You made me drink those last shots,” I gagged out as I threw up again.
“Yup,” he replied like he was humoring me.
“Stop saying yup. You did! You did this!”
“Okay,” he again replied.
“I want to go home, Alex. Right now.”
“Okay.” He conceded, and then he stood up as he kind of dropped my head onto the toilet. And walking away from me, he actually had the nerve to say, “Find your own way home. I'm done. You thought I would leave you this weekend, and I am. You were right, you fucking alcoholic Psycho,” and then I jumped as I heard him hit the door hard when he left. Listening, I heard the door slowly squeak shut, and I was relieved to be alone, until I wasn't alone again.
“Are you okay?” I heard a female ask from behind me. Lifting my head off the side of the toilet seat, I was humiliated looking at a waitress from the restaurant.
“Um, yes. I'm fine. Sorry about all this. I'll be fine in a minute,” I said as another gag hit me. Turning for the toilet bowl, I gagged again, but thankfully didn't throw up in front of her. “I'm leaving in a minute. Sorry...”
“Do you need any help getting to your room?”
“No. I'll be fine in a minute. Sorry.”
“Is your boyfriend going to hurt you?” She asked quietly. And I remember knowing what she thought of Alex.
“No. He's not really my boyfriend, but kind of. And no he won't hurt me, but he is leaving me which hurts. But I deserve it,” I admitted to a total stranger.
“Has he, ah, raped you before? Because that's not okay, even with a boyfriend,” she stated to my back, ramping up my humiliation to a degree I couldn't have known existed.
“No. He's never hurt me, and we don't do that.”
“Sex?” She asked me with surprise.
“Yes. We don't have sex. So he won't hurt me that way.”
“Then why did you yell that in the bar? Everyone heard you, and a few customers asked that we check up on you. You can tell me if you're scared. My Manager sent me in here and he won't let you get hurt, I promise.”
I remember trying to stand, as she grabbed for my elbow until I was steady. Leaning against the stall wall, I looked at her, straight in the eyes and confessed, “Alexander has never hurt me, and I don't think he ever would physically, but I hurt him all the time because I can't talk to him, or be normal, or be what I should be with him. Did you see him?” And when she nodded, I followed up with, “Did you think he was good looking?”
“Very,” she answered.
“He's very good looking, and he's so good to me and nice and really fucking patient with me and all my bullshit, but I just can't be with him like that, even though I want to be, I think. Sometimes...”
But I had lost her, I could tell. She was no longer sympathetic, but confused and I knew the questions that would follow, so I walked away from her and made my way to the sink. Looking in the mirror as I washed my hands, I was disgusted again. I had vomit on the right side of my face, and my hair was matted with it on that side of my head. My skin was the sunken sallow shade of Sadie past, and I looked a little like death again. I didn’t look like the kind of woman an Alexander Hamilton would be with.
So scrubbing my face, I wiped off the smeared mascara and finger brushed my teeth with nothing more than water, all while the waitress stayed silently beside me.
“I'm fine, you can go now. Please tell your Manager I'm sorry for the mess at the bar, but I'll be leaving the hotel soon.”
“Are you sure?” She asked again, and I remember wanting to scream in that moment.
“Yes,” I snapped, as I stumbled toward the washroom door.
Once I was in the lobby, I stumbled outside for a smoke. Asking a stranger for one was awkward, but mine were hidden upstairs in my luggage and I really needed one for my nerves. I knew I had to go back to our room just for a minute and I
hoped Alex wouldn't be a jerk about it, but I needed a smoke first.
Smoking, I thought of nothing but Alexander. I hoped he wasn’t too mad at me and he would just let me in so I could at least get my purse before I left. I hoped, though I had little faith left.
After my smoke, I made my way upstairs again shakily. I remember knocking on the door, and I remember the relief when Alex did answer the door to me. But after the relief came upset when he just stood there looking at me indifferently while waiting for me to speak, I think.
“I just need my purse. I'm sorry to bother you.”
“It's no bother,” he replied somewhat automatically.
And it hurt. I remember wishing his indifference didn't hurt, but it did. He walked away from the door at that point and sat in a chair near the window while browsing at the seminar pamphlets we had grabbed from the front desk. Ignoring me completely, I walked in, grabbed my suitcase off the desk and wheeled it into the bathroom.
And sitting on the edge of the tub, I remember my confusion. My head still spun, and I was totally drunk still, but at least the humiliation had subsided somewhat because I didn't know what to do about leaving. I could call a cab to take me to the train station, or to the greyhound station, but I was nervous. I didn't like walking around in the dark by myself, and certainly not in this town. I was insecure here at best, and adding in the fact that I was still drunk, desperate, alone, and confused, spelled absolute disaster for me emotionally.
Reaching for my purse, I wanted to know how much cash I had on me because I needed to do something. I needed to figure this out. I needed to get myself home so I could be alone again. I needed something to stop all this stuff in my head all the time, because the pressure was building, and the pain was intensifying, and the memories were swamping my brain and the constant mistakes I made were hurting Alexander which was killing me. And the constant thoughts of Him were driving me insane so I needed to figure something-