Coda 03 -The Letter Z

just goes to the other bed and climbs in. He turns his back on me and pulls the covers up to his ears.
    “Zach?” I say, confused.
    “You must not think much of me, Ang, if you think I’m only in this for the sex.” He reaches out and hits the switch on the bedside lamp hard enough that it slams into the wall. The light goes out, and the room goes dark.
    “Zach—” I try to say again, but he doesn’t let me finish. “Goodnight, Angelo.”
I lay there, alone in my bed, tryin’ to figure out how I managed to
    fuck things up so much.
    I WAKE up early the next mornin’, just like always. Normally, I would move to Zach’s bed. Normally, he would pull me against him, and we would doze a little longer, cuddled together. Normally, I would wake up again later to him pushin’ me gently onto my stomach, his weight on my back, his lips on my neck, and his finger or his cock between my legs.
    But not today.
    I wonder what would happen if I got in bed with him anyway—if I pretended like nothin’ was wrong. Would he still wrap his arms around me and make love to me? Or would he turn his back? I’m too scared to find out. My head’s still a mess from last night, and the truth is, I’m afraid I’ll just end up doin’ somethin’ to make things worse.
    I need to get away.
    I get dressed. I find a pen and pad of paper in the drawer. Then I have to think ’bout what to say.
In the end, I write, “Spend the day with M and J. Don’t worry. Just need some time.” I want to finish it by telling him that I’m sorry or even better, that I love him. But I can’t. I drop the note on my empty bed and leave the motel.
    I get onto the Strip and realize I got no clue where to go. Yesterday we went south, so today I go north. Not really thinkin’ much ’bout Zach yet. I know that’ll come. Right now, I’m just tryin’ to get back to that place inside that feels like me .
    Turns out six in the mornin’ is a strange time to walk ’round Vegas. Almost nobody out. Certainly none of those guys handin’ out the little cards with naked chicks on ’em. The sheer emptiness of the place makes the sound blarin’ out of the speakers by the cheesier casinos seem way too loud. There’s empty bottles and glasses everywhere. The magic of the place is wearin’ thin, and you can see the bullshit and lies underneath if you look too close.
    I keep walkin’ and end up at the Venetian. I stop at that one ’cause even now, in the harsh morning light, it looks serene. It’s kinda beautiful. The magic’s stronger here. I walk in the door that leads to the shops, and I’m a few steps in before I look up. And then I just stop.
    The ceiling is amazing. It’s covered with paintings: all kinds of pictures, with elaborate gold frames. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be like anything in particular—the Sistine Chapel, or maybe somethin’ else— I got no clue. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Wish Zach was here with me to see it. Never really thought ’bout goin’ to Europe, but now all of a sudden, I wanna go more than anything. How fuckin’ stupid is it that it’s Sin City makes me feel that way? I spend a long, long time just standin’ there, starin’ up at that ceiling.
    I finally start walkin’, just lookin’ ’round. The shops are all closed, but I look in the windows at other people’s lives. Five-hundred-dollar scarves and five-thousand-dollar suits. Silk ties, and artfully ripped jeans that I couldn’t afford to sit down in. None of it makes me feel any better.
    A few of the restaurants are servin’ breakfast, and I’m startin’ to think ’bout gettin’ some coffee when my phone rings. ’Course it’s Matt. Shoulda known. Zach and Jared will probably sleep ’til nine at least. Maybe ten. I shoulda realized Matt would be lookin’ for me.
    “Where the hell are you?” he snaps.
“At the Venetian.”
“Stay there. I’m already on my way.”
“Do I get a choice?”
“No.” I knew he was gonna say that. “I went to your room….” “Yeah?” I say, when he doesn’t finish.
“Zach looks like shit. He’s pretty upset.”
    I can’t fuckin’ deal with that right now. “You gonna tell me anything I don’t already know?”

    He sighs, and then says in a softer tone, “You want to get something to eat?”
    “I’m not talkin’ ’bout Zach.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not talkin’ ’bout last night at all.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Yeah, I wanna get somethin’ to