Free Bliss by Shay Mitchell

orchestrated her own undoing by inviting him back to her room and being a besotted idiot. No wonder he bought her cheap street food! No wonder he wouldn’t bring her back to his room. It was too much truth to swallow in one gulp. Shame engulfed her. She had fucked up monumentally with no one to help her. The sudden reality of how alone she was hit her like a tsunami.
    Leandra felt dizzy. Her hand went to her temples, and then next thing she knew, she was on the mosaic floor, Mr. Mookba’s face hovering over her, asking, “Can you hear me?”
    A crowd gathered around her. She heard someone say, “Call the American embassy.”
    â€œI’m CANADIAN!” she sobbed.
    The manager got her into a taxi, and brought her back to the Sawasdee. He volunteered to make some calls on her behalf. She nodded mutely, in a state of shock. “The worst part is,” she said as the concierge held her hand, “I really wanted to feed those monkeys.”



 
    4
    only serial killers don’t like pumpkin
    A week after the breakup, driving home in the middle of the night from Opus, her favorite bar, Demi made a few lefts, a few rights, and then ripped into a parking spot like a race car driver. She tripped out of the car when her foot didn’t land on the curb. And why would it? She parked two feet away from it. Should she get back in the car, pull out, and try to park again, or just leave it for four hours until she had to drive to work? She might get a ticket.
    â€œScrew it,” she said.
    She walked to the front door of the building. But the key didn’t go in. She jammed it a few times to no avail. “What’s wrong with this thing?” she said, glancing at the door and looking around.
    Then it hit her. Nothing wrong with the key, but she was trying to use it on the wrong door. She’d driven herself to James’s building on automatic pilot. She had sworn she’d never come back here, and yet here she was, standing at her ex’s doorway. If he appeared right now, he’d think she’d come crawling back to him, drunk in the middle of the night.
    Instead of sprinting back to her car to peel out of there, Demi paused. What would happen if I buzzed? Buzzing when buzzed, like bootie texting or drunk dialing. Not advisable. But she was here, and James was probably asleep in bed next to some rank slut. When he got up to see who was buzzing, he might trip and break his neck in the dark, so there was an upside. She slurred out a laugh, followed by a hiccup.
    What would Sophia say? “Get back in your car and leave!” Followed by, “Don’t drive drunk! Get out of the car and walk!”
    Yes, that would be the wise thing to do. Instead, Demi leaned her full weight on James’s buzzer for ten solid seconds.
    Cackling, she weaved back to her Audi, jumped in, and made her getaway, almost clipping a parked car in her rush. As she drove through empty streets toward her new building five miles away, Demi’s smile turned thin and mean.
    This is not me , she thought. He’s turned me into a drunken jaded bitch . So he’d cheated on her with countless hoes for the entire three years they were together. Was that inexcusable? James apparently thought so. It’d been a whole week since Demi left, and he hadn’t called to ask for forgiveness. Not a peep from him. No missed calls or “let’s talk” texts. She’d expected him to beg for mercy once or twice a day, across several different platforms and devices. She had blocked his number, but he could have found a way. Depending on her mood and the medium, Demi would have heard him out. She might even have considered taking him back, albeit on a short leash with a choke collar. But that selfish prick didn’t give her the courtesy of groveling. Of all the ways he’d hurt her, his radio silence post-breakup might be the worst. It made her want another drink.
    When in doubt, wine not.