Page 2

Tobie

“Hey! You can’t go—”

A roar from the arena cuts through the yell behind me.

Head down, one broken sandal in hand, I hobble down the dark hallway, brushing tears from my cheeks.

When I glance behind me, a man in a dark blue security jacket and a balding head of brown hair is sprinting away from me.

I’m not sure what’s happening , but I hope to hell it’s something dramatic so everyone can forget all about my public humiliation.

I could have rushed out of the arena instead of down here, but there was no way I was leaving with panda-like eyes. There had been a line snaking down the hallway outside the ladies’ bathroom, and it would have taken forever to get to the front.

The farther I hobble, the darker it gets. I pause, asking myself if I should be going down this way. Shaking my head, I continue.

I’ll only be five minutes.

Plenty of time to get out the last of these tears, wash my face, and I’m out of here. I should be able to make it home before I need to burst into tears again.

A restroom comes into view, and when I push open the door, I breathe a sigh of relief to find it’s empty.

A light flickers on lazily. Perfect. The light flicks off.

Shit. I wave my arms around in case motion sensors trigger it, but the only thing I wind up doing is looking like a bat in my black coat.

Since I don’t need light to cry, I head into the nearest stall, slam the door shut, lock it, and put the toilet seat down. Grabbing a wad of tissues and dropping my head into my hands, I give in to more tears.

I should have asked Marc what the hell he was doing.

No. I should have flung the hotdog at him. One at him and one at her might have made me feel a little better.

“Who the hell am I kidding? No, it wouldn’t.”

How long had he been cheating on me? Had he always been taking her to hockey games while I was singing his praises that he wasn’t the type of boyfriend who dragged me to sports events, knowing I hated them?

Did he sleep with her?

Their kiss had been so intimate. I don’t want to believe he would sleep with another woman, but he’s shown so little interest in sex over the last year.

Because he was getting it from someone else, Tobie. That’s why.

I want to rush back to him, to shake the answers out of him, but I don’t shake answers out of anyone. I make myself a cup of herbal tea, climb into bed, and furiously journal my frustrations in the diary my dad got me for Christmas.

I can’t torture myself like this. Crying in a dark restroom that smells of stale piss is truly pathetic.

I blow my nose, toss the tissue in the toilet, and slide the lock open. Metal thumps to the floor on the other side, and I hesitate for a split second.

I push on the door.

It doesn’t open.

I shove the door harder this time. It doesn’t give an inch.

I back up as far as the toilet will let me go and throw myself at the door.

Cursing under my breath, I rub the soreness from my arm as I glare so hard at the white wood, it’s a miracle it doesn’t spontaneously combust.

I run at the door again, bounce off it, and trip as I fall back.

Crack.

I moan when my head explodes in agony.

I blink a couple of times, and things feel different.

When I rushed down the hallway, the faint sound of the crowd in the arena was distant, growing more so the farther away I walked from it.

But now it is absolutely silent.

Is the game over?

My head aches, and I feel slightly sick as I get to my feet, resting my hand on the wall to remove my other sandal. If I’d taken the stupid thing off before, maybe I wouldn’t be picking myself up off a filthy floor with a pounding head.

I warily eye the door I went to war with and lost in what should’ve been a one-sided fight.

“ Hello !” I yell.

Silence.

“Is anyone there?” I call out, straining to listen for any footsteps headed my way.

Nothing.

I scream like a girl being chased by a killer in a horror movie because someone has to hear that and save me, right?

Wrong.

I fish out my cell phone from my pocket and curse the universe when the screen is black.

I was running late to the game after nearly poking my eye out when I was curling my hair. By the time I realized I only had one bar of battery left, it was too late to charge it. Now that decision is coming back to bite me on the ass, just like every decision I’ve made so far.

I shouldn’t have spent money I didn’t have on a new dress, heels, and tickets for a game I barely understand. Marc didn’t deserve it. He was absolutely not worth it.

I shouldn’t have come here at all.

Stuffing my cell phone in my coat pocket, I refocus on the door. “You are an idiot, Tobie Myers.”

I was never getting out of this stall by throwing myself at it.

The door opens the other way.

I rattle the handle, but whatever fell on the other side must be the mechanism for unlatching the lock.

I pull on it even harder, putting my back into it. Of course, it doesn’t open. “Because that would be too easy,” I mutter as I eye the floor, already regretting what I’m about to do, and in what was a brand-new dress, no less.

I have no desire to get up close and personal with this nasty floor, but if no one is going to save me, I have to save myself.

I lie as flat as I can and try not to breathe as I tilt my head, swallowing hard as my stomach heaves. Someone did not clean these floors as well as they should have. They get a D for effort.

“Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up,” I chant.

When my nausea passes, I squint.

The world is not right.

I take a long moment to determine that a contact has fallen out. I see a small silver object perfectly clear out of my left eye, but it might as well be a silver blob out of my right.

Yes, I could look for my lost contact, but since I have no intention of sticking it in my eye after it’s been on this rank floor, what’s the point?

Size twelve me is never getting through the gap under the door. I might be able to reach whatever that metal thing is, reattach it somehow, and get myself out of here.

I sweat as I strain.

The tip of my middle finger brushes the metal thing. I stretch . Just a little farther.

My head pounds. I’m terrified I’m going to wedge myself under this door, but then my index finger and thumb graze the metal object.

Yes .

I drag it toward me with my fingertips, closing my palm around it tightly so I don’t accidentally drop it.

It’s only when I’m on my feet, ready to reattach the object and get the hell out of here, that I realize I have to attach it to the other side of the door.

“ Fuck !” I yell as I kick the door. “Why is this happening to me?” I kick it again, and when I only hurt my toes more, I grab one of my sandals and hit the door, if only to release a little more of my frustration so I can think.

“Why!” I scream as loud as I can. “What did I do to deserve this?”