As soon as the coast is clear, I go to Phoenix's car. I take a picture of it with the club in the background as proof. I take a picture of the license plates. I have no idea why I'd need proof for myself. I guess it's for him, in case he tries to lie his way out of it. I pull on the car door, checking if he left it open. No luck. I cup my eyes with my hands and peer into the driver's side window. On the seat is a plastic pink card that says, "VIP."

Slippery asshole. You should bust his windshield. Wonder what he'll do then.

He'll be pissed!

You're the one that should be mad! Look at what he's doing! He's not the one. He already has his one!

I know it looks bad, really bad. But maybe there's an explanation . . . .

Like what? Hey Ari, here's my real girl! You're just my side piece!

Without warning, that sick feeling surges up and out of my belly, projecting my dinner onto the driver's side window. Too weak to move, I rest my arm and forehead against the part of the car not covered in vomit. It brings relief for a little while. I gain my balance, standing there for a moment, stunned by all that's happened.

Desperate for an explanation, I call him. I should expect it by now. No answer. Not sure what to do, I hang out, waiting for him to return. I call him again.

He sees me calling. Why is he doing this to me? I thought he loved me. He told me he loved me . . . this is what I was afraid of. This is why I held back. Love is dangerous.

I sit on the curb at the rear of his car, and for the first time since I decided to play detective, my mind isn't racing and I'm finally able to catch my breath but the break is short lived. Everything begins to process all at once and an overwhelming sadness sits heavy in my chest. The weight of the world has been dropped on me and I can't bear it. I'm not quite sure how I got here, but the sorrow of realizing that this is where it all led, leaves me feeling like a newly abandoned orphan.

Depressed.

Hopeless.

And yearning to be loved again.

I'm all alone in this. No one. Not one person can save me from the depth of pain I feel right now. Not even my mom. The lies. The betrayal. The disrespect. When all I did was hold him in the highest regard? He was my hero. He made me feel safe. Oh God. This endless, bottomless, dark void is so vast. How can I make it stop? How do I cover it up? How can I fill it up again? It's so empty.

I'm empty without him.

Phoenix's flashy car, the parking lot, the club, all of it looks as if it is underwater. A watery grave. Everything is drowning with me. My head is heavy, throbbing under the emotional pressure and my tears. I surrender to the despair that's closing in on me and bury my head in my hands, allowing myself to have a good, long cry.

You should break up his little party. Go in there and let him have it!

I can't do that. I don't know what I'm getting into. What is this place?

Now you're asking the right questions.

I get up and look around for a name, an address, something to tell me where I am. The momentary distraction is more than welcome. I walk around the entire building before getting an address.

Taking the information back to my car, I Google it on my phone. When I finally get reception bars on my phone, I can't believe the search results. Two words leap off the screen and punch me in the face.

SWING CLUB.

Swing Club? As in, Swing Club? As in swapping partners? As in having sex with other people?

"No! This can't be. He wouldn't."

I re-type the address and hit search. Sure enough, their website is first in the results. I click on it and look for the address on their site.

God damn it!

It's a match. This is the place! Players Paradise. As I'm reading through the First Visit page, things are starting to make sense. There are no lines because you must be on a guest list to get in. So, Phoenix planned this in advance. This isn't a first-time thing.

I click on the Club Dues page. It mentions that most patrons pay a monthly fee and are members. VIP members get special privileges. I remember the card I saw in his seat.

I scan the Home page and stop at the paragraph titled, STD Awareness. It gives advice on places to go for testing and self-righteously preaches the importance of knowing one's status. Before that paragraph, the thought of STDs hadn't even crossed my mind. Now, it's all I can think about. We did exchange test results and he came back clean but that was before I found out about this.

He's been doing this for a while. Probably the whole time you've been together, maybe longer.

The selfishness.

The recklessness.

The carelessness.

Red is all I see.

Unbelievable!

"I'm going to KILL you, Phoenix!" I yell at the top of my lungs, in the car. "You're in there having sex, you lying sack of shit! You're dead!" I take a bat out of my trunk and make a beeline straight for his expensive pimped-out sports car, but I'm halted when I see him and his drunk companion stumble out of Players Paradise.

"THIS is why you left me tonight?" I point at the club, shouting at Phoenix in an out of control rage.

Obviously on cloud nine, he looks at me with a startled, drunken grin and mumbles, "Ari? What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here? You drunk, lying, son-of-a-bitch? How could you do this to me? So, this is where you go when I don't hear from you?"

"Ari . . . you're messing up. This is . . . a job . . . money. You shouldn't . . . ." He pats his pockets, sloppily searching for his keys.

"And who is she?" I ask enraged at the fact that there is a "she" to refer to.

"Huh? Who's she?" The woman asks in a deep slur. Her expression goes from blissfully drunk to completely confused.

"Just . . . get in . . . ." Phoenix fumbles with his keys, presses the key fob and unlocks the Viper.

The lady struggles to open the door.

"This is what you want?" I ask, pointing at her, not believing what I'm seeing. She's kind of pretty, but she looks sweaty and disheveled. Her hair and makeup need a major touch up.

Obviously feeling judged, she tries to pull herself together. She pats her hair down and opens the door. "Fuck you, bitch! You don't . . . know me!"

"Don't say anything to her . . . Nora . . . just . . . get in," Phoenix interrupts.

"So, this is Nora! You're running from me, now?" I'm so angry I could explode. "Just say it!" I yell before swinging the bat at his taillight and hitting it. The light shatters to my satisfaction.

Phoenix quickly jumps in the car, slamming the door behind him. "You hit my car? You're crazy!" He puts the car in drive and speeds out of the parking lot.

I'm left behind, filled with volcanic anger, holding the bat, ready to go nuclear.

I run to my car, get in and take off. He's not far. I can still catch up. When I call his phone, he picks up. I'm sure he's spotted me driving erratically behind him.

"What is this, Phoenix? How could you do this? You told me you LOVED ME!" I yell. I catch a glimpse of my eyes in the rear-view mirror. I don't like what I see. I'm not myself. I look like a sadistic, serial killing, crazy woman but I can't help how I feel. My emotions are getting the best of me. I'm no longer in control.

"I do, Ari. I love you. This is . . . I was just . . . ."

"Just what? SAY IT, GOD DAMN IT!"

He slurs loudly into the phone. "You shouldn't have followed me! Fucked everything . . . up! Go home . . . stop following me." Phoenix unexpectedly makes a U-turn in the middle of the street and dives into an opening in oncoming traffic. He's successfully crossed over to the lanes going in the opposite direction.

Panicked by his sudden turn, I know I'll lose him if I don't do something. "What are you talking about? You KILLED US!" I scream. Quick, before I'm able to think, I close my eyes and make a U-turn, plunging my car into an opening I spot in the opposite-driving lanes.

Before I'm able to complete the U-turn, a taxi crashes into the passenger side of my beautiful blue BMW causing traffic to come to a screeching halt. I look out the driver's side window and watch as Phoenix drives off into the night, speeding and dipping in and out of lanes. The drunken fool doesn't realize he's already escaped me. He doesn't stop. He doesn't double back. He doesn't check to make sure I'm OK. He flees, leaving me behind to defend myself.

As I'm sitting in my caved-in, crumpled car, trying to get a grasp on what has just transpired, an insanely angry taxi driver with a heavy mustache jumps out of his vehicle. He's pointing at me and yelling profanities in a thick foreign accent. He is boiling over with anger. I refuse to face him alone, so I wait in my car. I'm relieved when the cops finally show up but their rude, unsympathetic response leaves me with my back against the wall. No one is on my side and why should they be? I'm the idiot darting out into traffic, holding on for dear life. I'm the fool who followed a drunken, loveless asshole off a cliff. Only, he survived. I didn't. Now, I have to pay. The whole time I'm talking to them, my mind is elsewhere. I guess I wasn't that great at defending myself because in the end, the blame is put squarely on my shoulders. I'm given a ridiculously expensive ticket and a court date for reckless driving. The taxi driver is let off the hook, even though he nose-dived into me. After this crushing blow, the officers let me know I'm free to go.

Only you're not free.

I'm tortured. Heart ripped out and spat on. I'm dejected. Sentenced to die on Prescott Row for crimes committed against his double life.

My mind burns through a thousand thoughts a minute and I'm trapped, not knowing the full truth. Somehow, after all this, I still want to believe that it was something other than what it appeared to be. Love won't let me leave it alone. This is what I was afraid of.

I find it impossible that the man who helped put my life back together, after Sebastian brought it crashing down, is the same man that just moments ago, turned my world upside-down, and shattered me into a gazillion tiny pieces. My life is a chaotic, disorderly junkyard full of useless parts that don't fit anything.

I sit in my brand-new, beat-up, electric blue BMW, with smashed windows and cratered passenger doors. I sit there and let traffic fly past me in a blur. I sit there and do nothing. I've hit rock bottom. The dirtiest, grittiest, lowliest level. It can't possibly get any worse than this.

When he doesn't call after a few hours of waiting, I press the start button on Gertrude Two Point O and head home.

It's over.

____________________

A/N: Hey Lovers! Here we are at the end of chapter 44. Things don't look great for Aria and Phoenix. How do you feel about that? (Feel free to rant and rave!)