I lay naked on the bed in the hotel room. I'd hoped to leave for Palmira this morning, but instead, drew the curtains and jabbed at the buttons of the air conditioner.

The Florida heat sapped my strength, leaving me sweaty, puffy, and lazy. Disgusting. I inhaled deeply and, as it often did when I was in bed, my mind went to Luca. Sometimes the memories turned me on, while other times, they made me feel lower than dirt.

This was one of the low days. Probably because of the heat.

The memories won't stop...

One weekend, early on, Luca's parents had been away. Back then, he still lived with his family, like all young Italian guys. He'd invited me over and made dinner.

He seduced me after we ate, whispering such sweet things. Then he turned commanding and dominant, and I adored that side of him too.

"I think I'll keep you," I'd said after we finished, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

A week later, he'd sent me a text breaking it off. That night, I broke into his house and pleaded with him not to end our relationship. His rejection triggered something in me.

I rolled over and plucked a razor blade from the nightstand. That text haunted my dreams, shattered my heart.

Stretching the skin on my inner thigh taut with two fingers, I pressed the cold blade to my leg. With a slow, precise rake of the blade, I carved an inch-long shallow line next to two scars.

When the tiny blooms of blood came, they brought relief from the memories.

____