I allow the hot water to come down on me, causing me to inadvertently shiver at the thought of his hands on me, roving over every unmarked surface. Tears mingling with the dew drops of water, I find myself mentally thanking whoever invented the bathroom fan a thousand times over. Combined with its ever constant hum from within the white paneled ceiling, as well as the jet of water in my face, my best friend and housemate, Caroline, is unable to hear my sobs.

My hair feels like a dead weight, a snake of dark wetness down my back. He used to love to gently tangle his hands into it, inhaling the shampoo and conditioner that I used that he so loved, and he would tell me that he thought its length was perfectly suited to my face. He loved the golden brown, auburn color; red with the dusk, blonde with the noon, black with the dawn.

I shut my eyes then as I find myself thinking of him, biting my lip to draw my attention to a new kind of pain. I cover my mouth then, continuing to sob, hoping that Caroline won't hear my cries. I can't take her comfort right now—or anyone's, for that matter. The only thing I truly wanted now was him, but that could not happen.

I know what will happen, ultimately, of course. Just like every night for the past week, I will shut off the hot water and retreat into my bedroom and muffle my cries into my pillow until sleep takes me. Then, in the morning, I'll wake up at seven, and attempt to find my foundation which will remedy my red eyes and then I'll get into my work clothes and head to work. The children in my class will be sweet and kind to me, and for six and a half hours, I will forget my tragic life.

Turning off the hot water, I somehow manage to contain my sobs as I throw back the curtain, a wave of steam blinding me momentarily. I make a grab for my towel and wrap it around me, bending over the bath to wring out my hair before wrapping it in a smaller towel and retreating to my bedroom. I remembered reading somewhere that wrapping your hair in a towel to dry would do damage to the follicles, but I was beyond caring about hair care, or maintenance, especially when I had nobody to show it to. Once I reach my bedroom, I slip on a pair of underwear, shorts, and a tank top and am about to slip into bed when there is a knock at my door.

"Sarah?" comes Caroline's voice. "I've had enough of this. Every day for the last week you've been avoiding me. Come on, open up. You and I seriously need to have a talk."

Thinking she will think I passed out with the light on again, I quickly crawl into bed and feign sleep, thinking she will go away. Covering myself, I shut my eyes and wait for her to give up. I begin counting the seconds.

"Sarah Richardson, this is unacceptable behavior, even for you, and despite the circumstances! I think its best that I now officially reserve the right as your best friend to unceremoniously barge into your bedroom!" She opens the door without difficulty, just as I turn and face the wall, away from her, which exasperates her further. "Sarah, really? Don't you dare pull the wall trick." She reaches towards my shoulder, pulling me over. "There's the face!" she says, smiling down at me before sitting down. "Now, come on. I need you to talk to me. This is getting out of hand."

I sit up and tuck my knees underneath my chin, still shaking from the sobs that threatened to bubble from beneath the surface all over again—and I couldn't have that. With my face still lowered, I cannot meet her eyes, and I don't know if I even want to. I don't want to say it, yet I know that I must. "Richard and I ended it a week ago," I whispered.

Caroline raises her eyebrows. "A week? And you waited that long before telling me?" she demands, before seeing my face crumple again. She shakes her head at that and reaches out to put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "For good?"

"Yes."

She shakes her head, pulling me into a hug. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

She pulls back. "Why not?"

I pull a face. "Because, it'd be weird! Besides, you're dating my brother...my twin brother, and I don't want my family to know yet."

Caroline sighs, pushing a bit of my hair back behind my ear. "You know full well he's an idiot, right?" she asks.

"What? Frank's an idiot? But...you love him..."

"Yes, and have since we were fourteen." She shakes her head. "I wasn't talking about Frank; I was talking about Richard. Richard is the idiot here, Sarah. Was it his new assistant? That Carlotta woman? I never liked her..."

I shrug, not allowing her words to comfort me. "I'm not beautiful enough," I whisper, putting my head into my hands and sobbing again.

"What?!" Caroline demands, pulling my hands from my face, her mama bear attitude coming out full-force. "Did Richard actually say that?! Those very words?!"

I shake my head. "No."

"Then what did he say?"

"He said that we were too different—that his lifestyle and my lifestyle wouldn't mesh in the outside world..."

Caroline sighed. "Just because Richard's supposedly the next Robert Kardashian and you're a fourth-grade teacher doesn't mean anything, Sarah. You're both great at what you do, you both love your jobs, and—from what I saw—you both loved each other. What happened? And I want specifics."

I shrug. "That's a long story..."

"Then start at the beginning," Caroline orders.

Rolling my eyes, I lean back against the pillows. "I guess it all began even before we met... I don't know... you know me, I'm not some hoity-toity, upper class, high society bitch who thinks the whole world revolves around her," I tell her. "I mean, I guess we sort of fell into each other's lives..."

"Fell into?" Caroline asks. "He saved you."

"That was the second time we met," I tell her. "Had it been the first time, I would never have gotten into his car like that, even though the meetings were hours apart... You know how my parents raised me—to be wary of strangers. Just because your family situation wasn't as hands-on, I know your parents taught you that much, at least."

"Way to rub it in," Caroline says, shaking her head. "But, come on. Tell me. How did it start at the beginning?"

"On that first day, I hated him," I reply honestly.

"Hated him?"

"Hated. His. Guts," I tell her. "He was the epitome of a rich boy who got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted."

"And he wanted you?"

"He didn't say so, at the time. That came later."

"I'm confused," Caroline says.

"He said that he thought I was refreshing," I tell her. "Most people seemed to know almost instantly who he was and wanted to put themselves—or their sisters or their daughters or their nieces—forward to get him. But he liked the fact that, even though I knew exactly who he was, I wouldn't take a bribe or be weak at the knees for him."

"But you were?"

I laugh. "Damn straight, I was. He was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen, but after all my failures over the years with the opposite sex, I'd learned to turn off my outward emotions, and wait for them to come to me."

"Dangerous," Caroline put it.

I shrug. "I know—but it wasn't my main focus. All I cared about was my career, and I'm still young, I still have time."

"But you don't want anyone else," Caroline guessed. "Come to think of it, you never wanted anyone else."

I shook my head. "You'd be right," I reply.