Page 41 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

We drive in silence for a few moments, the hum of the engine the only sound. I finally break the silence, my voice softer but no less intense. “Just... Please promise me you won’t see him again.”

She doesn’t respond, and I don’t push her further. But the weight of the argument hangs between us, unresolved and heavy, as we pull up to her apartment.

We reach her door and I help her inside, making sure she is perfectly safe. She immediately turns to me, her expression defiant. “You can leave, Elliot. I’m not putting out tonight.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Anatife.”

Ignoring her protest, I make my way to the kitchen, rummaging through her cabinets until I find popcorn. I toss a bag into the microwave and grab a couple of waters from the fridge.

When I return to the living room, I find a movie to stream and settle onto the couch. Ziggy glares at me for a moment but eventually sighs, sitting down beside me. As the movie plays, her eyes grow heavy, and before long, she is fast asleep with her headresting on my shoulder. I glance down at her peaceful face, a mix of frustration and fondness washing over me.

I grab a blanket and settle back in next to her, pulling her closer. I tuck her into my side, cover us both with the blankets, lean my head back , and close my eyes. This arrangement of ours is getting more complicated by the day, but for now, I am content to be here, making sure she is safe. Tomorrow, we can deal with everything else.

Chapter 32

I wake up the next morning tucked in on the couch with a blanket draped over me. The house is silent, and I assume Elliot left. As I stretch, memories of the previous night flood back, and I can’t help but feel a wave of embarrassment and frustration. No wonder I woke up alone; Elliot must have gotten the hell out of here after dealing with me last night.

Last night was an absolute disaster. Trusting my ex had been a monumental mistake. I should have seen it coming from a mile away. As I lie here, covers over my head, memories of our horrible conversation play on a loop in my mind. “I’ve changed, Ziggy,” he insisted over dinner, his eyes wide with what I now recognize as fake sincerity. “I know I messed up before, but I want to make it right. Give me another chance.”

I was foolish enough to believe him, to think that maybe, just maybe, people can change. But by the end of the night, after too many drinks and his true colors showing through, it wasclear he was still the same self-centered, unreliable jerk that had left me behind. When he left me downtown, the last shred of hope I had in him evaporated.

Even as he was trying to convince me that he had changed, I had no interest in ever getting back with him; I just thought we could maybe be friends. He isn’t what I want anymore. My thoughts turn to Elliot. Why did I call Elliot instead of just risking it with an Uber? I know he will use this against me eventually, and I hate giving him any ammunition. Yet, despite everything, it was Elliot I trusted in that moment of vulnerability. He is the one I felt safe enough to call, even knowing the shit I might get. But what does that mean deep down and why is he the first person who comes to mind when I am in trouble? It’s infuriating and confusing, and I am not ready to admit to myself what it all might mean.

Lost in thought beneath the blankets, I replay the events of the previous night over and over, berating myself for my poor decisions. Suddenly, the front door creaks open, and I bolt upright, heart racing. Elliot walks in, a bag of bagels in one hand and two coffees in the other.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says with a smirk.

I nearly jump out of my skin, clutching the blanket to my chest. “Elliot! You scared the shit out of me!”

He just chuckles, setting the food on the table. I glare at him, but deep down, I am grateful he is still here. As he gets closer, I can assess the situation from the safety of my blanket still lifted up to my nose. He is wearing the most dangerous of combinations–joggers and a sweaty t-shirt.

“Did you run to New York to get those bagels? You are dripping sweat all over my very cheap rug.” I grumble.

“Relax, Anatife.” He says, shaking his head in laughter as more sweat drips on my floor…“You won’t shut up about Bagel Boys so I stopped on my way back from my workout. Thought you could use some breakfast after the night you had.”

I don't want to but I smile anyway, despite my mixed feelings. “You didn’t have to do that,” I mutter, accepting the coffee he hands me.

“Consider it a peace offering,” he says. “And maybe a bribe for a tour of your place?”

I lead Elliot through my small one-bedroom apartment, pointing out the modest living room with its cozy couch and scattered books, the tiny kitchen where I attempt to cook, and the bathroom with its chipped tiles and slightly leaky faucet. This place is not where I imagine myself living longer than a year, so I never put any effort into it. As we reach the bedroom, it suddenly feels very inadequate. I feel a pang of nervousness as I open the door to my room. It is intimate, a space I haven’t shared with anyone other than my stupid ex-boyfriend. As I gesture to the bed and the simple decor, the weight of the previous night hits me again.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I feel my composure slipping. “I feel so stupid for trusting him,” I admit, tears welling up in my eyes.

Elliot sits down next to me, pulling me to his side. "Hey, you're not stupid, Ziggy. You just let someone who doesn’t matter embarrass you. It happens, but it doesn’t define you."

His words are calm, grounding, and they will the tears to stop. "Yeah, but I should’ve known better. I let him get under myskin...again." The tight knot of humiliation inside me starts to shrink.

Elliot chuckles softly, squeezing me a little tighter. "You’re human, Ziggy. We all have our weak moments, trust me. But that doesn’t take away from your strength. Don’t give him the power to make you feel small."

His words sink in, and for the first time since last night, I actually feel a bit better. Elliot being here makes me feel better, pulling me out of the shame spiral I’ve been stuck in as the sting of embarrassment fades. It’s like he’s reminding me of who I really am, and how much stronger I can be when I’m not wrapped up in the past. Instead, I would rather feel alive, wanted, better understood.

I lean my head against his shoulder and his steady presence provides me the comfort I need. His understanding makes me feel seen in a way that my ex never did. Something shifts inside me, something undeniable, and without thinking, I lean up and kiss him, gently. He makes me feel like I’m worth more, and I need him to know it. His response is instant—soft kisses that turn deeper, making me forget everything else except how he’s making me feel as his hands roam over my body. Better. Stronger.

We fall back onto the bed. The spirit of his words brings me to life. Feeling adventurous, I reach for my special drawer where I keep my toys, pulling out a couple of favorites. His eyes darken with desire as he sees them.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Absolutely,” I breathe.