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For a moment, panic had threatened to rise—the familiar urge to flee before he woke, to avoid the morning-after awkwardness, the potential for expectations or attachments. But then I'd remembered: this was Alex. Uncomplicated, undemanding Alex, who wanted from me exactly what I was willing to give—no more, no less.

So I'd stayed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, cataloguing the sensations in my body—the pleasant soreness between my thighs, the slight dryness in my mouth, the lingering warmth in my veins that had nothing to do with the drug and everything to do with the satisfaction of a night well spent.

When he'd finally stirred, blinking sleepily at me, I'd been prepared for awkwardness, for regret, for the usual morning-after dance of pretending the night meant more or less than it did. Instead, he'd simply smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips.

"Morning," he'd murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Coffee?"

"God, yes," I'd replied, grateful for his easy acceptance of the situation.

He'd pulled on a pair of boxers and padded to the kitchen, leaving me to use the bathroom and collect my scattered clothing. By the time I'd emerged, dressed in last night's outfit and with my makeup somewhat salvaged, he'd had two mugs of coffee waiting on the counter.

We'd sipped in companionable silence for a while, neither of us feeling the need to dissect what had happened or define what it meant. It was refreshing, this lack of pressure, this mutual understanding that what we shared was physical, temporary, and uncomplicated.

"So," he'd said eventually, “excited for the new job?"

"Yeah," I'd replied, grateful for the neutral topic. "Nine to five, Monday to Friday. Like a real adult."

He'd chuckled at that. "Congratulations. We should celebrate properly next weekend."

The invitation had hung in the air between us, and I'd found myself nodding without hesitation. "Definitely. Same place?"

"If you want. Or we could try somewhere new."

"Let's go back to The Underground," I'd suggested, thinking of the job opportunity, of Tasha with her tattoos and knowing smile, of the way the music and the crowd and the atmosphere had made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in too long. "I liked it there."

"Underground it is," he'd agreed easily. "Friday night?"

"Friday night," I'd confirmed, already looking forward to it—to the escape, to the possibility of another pill, to the promise of more nights like the one we'd just shared.

As I'd left his apartment later that morning, stepping into the bright sunlight of a Saturday in the city, I'd felt... not happy, exactly, but something close to it. A contentment born not of genuine fulfillment but of acceptance—acceptance that this was my life now, that I was choosing this path with eyes wide open, that I was embracing the descent rather than fighting it.

I wasn't sure if it was because I had resigned myself to the fact that I was okay slipping up, or because I knew I was about to slide back into old habits and just allowed myself to tag along for the ride, but in that moment, I was happy and blissfully unawareof where I was heading. Or maybe I was aware, and I just didn't care anymore.

Either way, as I'd hailed a taxi to take me home, I'd felt lighter than I had in weeks. The weight of Con's absence, of James's disappointment, of my own self-loathing—all of it had seemed distant, manageable, almost irrelevant in the face of this new direction I was taking.

The rabbit hole beckoned, dark and deep and promising oblivion. And I was jumping in with both feet, eyes closed, arms spread wide, welcoming whatever waited at the bottom.

Chapter 26

Geri

Igot the job at the Underground, and started work there and told Alex we could go out once my shift ended at 1 AM. The call had come on Wednesday afternoon, Tasha's husky voice on the other end of the line making my stomach flutter with anticipation.

"Hey, it's Tasha from the Underground. Got a minute?"

"Yeah, of course," I'd replied, stepping away from my workstation at the restaurant, ignoring James's questioning glance.

"So, we'd like to offer you the door position. Friday, Saturday, Sunday nights, 9 to 1. Pay's thirty-seven an hour plus you get to keep any tips, which can be decent on busy nights. You interested?"

I'd felt a smile spread across my face, the first genuine one in days. "Definitely interested. When do I start?"

"This Friday work for you? I can show you the ropes before we open."

"Perfect," I'd said, already mentally planning my outfit, calculating how this would fit with my new day job that started Monday. "I'll be there at eight-thirty."

"Looking forward to it," she'd replied, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "See you Friday, Geri."

I'd hung up feeling a strange mix of excitement and relief. The Underground job wasn't just extra money—it was an anchor, a guaranteed reason to be out three nights a week, surrounded by noise and people and distractions. It was exactly what I needed.