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to maintain control over everything. Alexander had made me lose control, and I was scared to death. I had gone from heroine to victim in a moment’s time as I lived through my own romantic tragedy.
    “I will fucking kill him if he comes near you again. Do you understand? Eva, I’m talking to you!” Marcus yelled.
    But I was once again consumed by sadness and darkness. I wanted so desperately to be back in Alexander’s hold that I couldn’t breathe.
    “Marcus, please let it go,” I begged.
    “Eva, I want you to go home. I can’t have you here like this; you are not well.”
    Marcus pitied me in the saddest of ways. I had allowed myself to be physically punished, and I had truly lost all control.
    “Marcus, please don’t. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
    But Marcus wasn’t buying into my bullshit.
    “You are not fine. Now go and take the rest of the week off.” And with his dismissal from my only safe haven, Marcus turned to leave. “And I promise you, if you fucking go near him again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
    He slammed the door behind him, leaving me to fester with my regrets and fears, alone and lonely in my self-destructive bubble.
    I left the office directly from the conference room, as I feared running into Samantha or Marcus again if had I tried to return to my office.
    I walked the streets of Manhattan for hours trying to find an explanation for what I had become. But there was little I could come up with, little explanation to why the independent and intelligent woman I once was had completely lost control, lost hope, and lost herself. I felt pity for myself. I had fought against Alexander’s love so that I wouldn’t lose control, and now I had lost much more than that.
    Two weeks had passed since my first experience of Michael’s sadomasochistic practices. It was also the last time I had seen, smelled, and been near Alexander. But he was near me every minute of every day. I dreamt of him in my sleep and I dreamt of him while awake. His nearness and the sensation of his scent and skin were harbored within me even though I had cast him away. Every time Michael lashed out at me, my thoughts screamed painful “I’m sorry”s into the world, and I prayed that something would carry them to Alexander.
    Michael took pleasure in the nights we spent together. He thrived and enjoyed the infliction of pain on me. Had I not been the one being beaten, I would have taken pity on him and got him some help. But at this point, playing the role I was playing, I was the one who needed help. But who would help me? I had cast out everyone who loved me in my life as I fell deeper into this dark place of punishment and pain. My days were hollow, and the depths of my loneliness and sorrow grew deeper the more time I spent with Michael.
    It was late afternoon when I found myself near Alexander’s apartment complex across from Central Park. I hadn’t intentionally walked there, but somehow my mind and body decided to subconsciously take me to where my heart belonged. I didn’t know how long he had been back from LA or if he was still here, but my body gravitated in his possible direction. And as I stood looking to the top of the building, I could see the edge of the penthouse wall, and that’s when I hit bottom. I felt lightheaded and so heart broken that I didn’t know what to do or where to go to stop all the gloom that surrounded me.
    I took my cell phone from my purse and sent a text.
    I need you to make me forget. Please!
    And the response came seconds later: Meet me at my apartment; I’ll make it go away. Michael.
    I stood frozen, reading the text over and over again, praying that I hadn’t made another mistake. But it had become the only escape I could find in these, my darkest of days.
    I sat in the parking lot of Michael’s apartment for a long period of time, breathing through the consequences of my choices, telling myself that if I could just get through it, if I could just forget