Farewell to Cat

It is cold in Naples, but I do not feel the cold. I went to a party to say goodbye to a colleague. Cat. She was dressed in a short one-shouldered number with sequins and rhinestones. I brought her books to say goodbye - feminist literature about the Vagina-brain connection, and essays for her to read on the way to her next posting on a DDG. Like the academic I am, I wore the same Dansko shoes I wore in grad-school and a turtleneck shirt (because it is cold). I dressed sensibly in a wool sweater. I walked down to the waterfront like I have done a hundred times.
The Lieutenants in the office have not seen me in bars much. The last (and only time) was in Germany when I was with the Dutch Marines whose presence made me feel that much closer to Sjors. Then, I had allowed myself the luxury of imagining that he was there somehow (channeled through these men, perhaps?) and still gave a damn. I laughed. I danced. I do not laugh or dance much these days (have I ever?) These days I spend my time fighting for the preservation of my program. Today, I spend the morning in my boss's office telling him that I can't execute this program if he takes my star player away from me. I wore my maroon "fuck me" heels to work to give me that extra edge. I can't lose the damn program. Its the only thing that will make any of this matter. It is the only thing that can matter to me now.
But tonight, I was there for Cat. She gyrated and danced with the men. I drank the shots that men bought me. I danced with everyone. Cat danced with me. I judge this as a measure of my hotness. Dressed as I am as an academic, Cat still decided I was the sexiest woman in the room - because rubbing up against me, she would make all the men wild with desire for her. Okay. Whatever. Go with it. It isn't like I get that much rubbing in my life.
Pete has always been snarky to me. Drunk, it doesn't seem to bother me much. He starts to mouth off. I think about him working out at the gym. I've seen him running shirtless on the beach in Cape Verde (gawped until I realized it was him).  He dances towards me. He's nervous. I say, "you're so pretty when you keep your mouth closed." he smiles, says, "so are you!"
I leave before I can get really drunk. I have work tomorrow. I have to get up at 6.
I stop myself from leaving Sjors a message on Facebook. I know that this will only make things worse for my soul. He's fucking dead. They killed him. He killed him. The man I knew doesn't exist. I only wish I didn't feel it every second of every day.