Words Through a Vent

If Lauren hadn’t gone back for her comb, her world would still be vertical, not slanting horribly sideways.

She clutched at the door of the stall with a shaky hand and held her stomach with the other, hoping to keep down the bile trying to explode to the surface. The only thing stopping her from giving into the tilt and collapsing on the public toilet floor was the realization she would hit the public toilet first. Someone had neglected to flush it.

Desperate to gulp in air from somewhere other than the fetid space shrinking around her, she used every ounce of her willpower to get the door open and stumble out of the bathroom.

She pulled herself together enough to sweep past the lockers without drawing attention and slipped through the back door of the cycling studio where she leaned against the wall under the pink-tinged blue sky and focused all her energy on breathing. How could the day be so bright when her world was so dark?

As her heart settled its erratic pounding, she became aware of something digging into her hand, and she stared at the purple object she had gripped through the whole awful episode. Her favorite comb. A bubble of hysteria escaped her lips. Hot tears threatened next, and that’s when she got angry. Was everything a lie? Could she be that blind?

The act of shoving the comb in her bag brought forth bitter irony. She would still be blissfully ignorant if not for her compulsion to rescue such a trivial possession. She let out another embarrassing squeak of hysteria and glanced around the parking lot to make sure she was alone. Alone.

That hated word rang in her head and brought tears to the surface again. She let a few squeeze out, then straightened, smoothed her Lycra shirt over her bike shorts, and walked with purposeful strides to her car. The overheard conversation that precipitated the nauseating tilt to her universe played through her head as she climbed in.

It was a cool day so she sealed herself inside, clicked on the power, blasted her favorite XM station, and let herself belabor the truth she could not unhear. James and Danika were in love, passionately, with no reservations, in a way that left no room for Lauren to believe it was a passing thing. When did it happen?

That didn’t matter because it was clear she had just lost the love of her life and her best friend in one moment of fateful eavesdropping. And the devastating truth had been revealed because her comb had slipped from her bag and landed near a vent, which turned out to be the perfect sound conductor to the door of the men’s locker room.

Her thoughts took her again to the horrid moments when she crouched in that dingy spot under the sink, which capsule of time was now burnt into her memory.

As she reached for the wayward piece of plastic, undeniable honeyed tones floated right to her. “Please… James.”

In the loaded pause that followed, the first cracks had formed in Lauren’s illusion of happiness because she could hear lips traveling over soft skin, so clear the pair might as well be standing right in front of her. She could even feel those lips—because she knew them.

The voice repeated the words as if the speaker was trying to get Lauren’s attention. “Please, James… She’s just down the hall. We need to be careful until we can figure out a way to break this to her. It’s going crush her.”

“She’ll see the truth of it, Danika. We’ve been hiding this for too long, and it’s unhealthy, for all three of us. It’s time.”

“But James. We’re all she has. How can we do this? I love you, and I want to spend my time with you openly, but I love her, too.”

There was regret in his sigh and the words that followed. “If she cares about us, and you know she does, she won’t be selfish. We didn’t ask for this to happen and even tried to stop it.”

More sounds of passion punctuated his angst while they drove nails into Lauren’s heart.

James continued. “It will hurt at first, but she’s a reasonable human being. We can’t continue living a lie and wasting our lives trapped in the wrong combination.”

Danika’s breathless voice rose slightly. “You’re delusional if you believe this won’t ruin the friendships we’ve treasured since high school. You’ve known her the longest. Do you really think she’ll stick around after our betrayal?”

That was when Lauren reached her threshold of pain, when the bile started its molten rise to her throat, choking her, and her first reaction was to head to a toilet. At least she was past that first ugly moment.

The music blasting from her car speakers helped her think. She became aware that the clear day had turned to rain. It seemed appropriate to be surrounded by rivulets of water—like tears. Lauren’s skin was clammy, and she touched her stiff face with icy fingers. Was that what shock felt like?

The only positive thing she could glom onto was that she’d made it to her car without being noticed. She sank deeper into her leather seat to make her presence less obvious and rubbed at her sore heart. How was she going to face them again? Should she confront them? She didn’t see that going well. She would make a fool out of herself and accomplish nothing.

The unreality kept reverberating. James had been her best friend since kindergarten. He understood her better than anyone, even Danika. They were aware of their importance in her life. The three of them had been inseparable for the last five years, working, partying, traveling together, and cycling twice a week at this studio she would never be able to return to.

Her resentment flared. They were the ones who hid behind their lies. It should be them facing her and suffering through a confession. But her heart wouldn’t hold onto the anger, filling instead with hollow devastation, even as she attempted to contemplate a different future. Could she leave and start over somewhere else?

None of them had lived anywhere but this small town. She doubted she even had the skills to make new friends or find a new lover because she had only ever needed the two people she left whispering together in the studio.

She texted Danika with trembling fingers. The screen of her phone blurred through the stubborn tears she could no longer stem. It took her a few minutes to reread her message before she sent it. It was important to get it right because she did care deeply for them and always would.

“I’m not feeling well, my love. I’ll see you at home later. Enjoy dinner out with James—for both of us.”