Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
I still, willing that particular memory forward. Were they here?
And I deflate.
Why would they be?
A light knock on the door sounds, and I snap my eyes open. Did I imagine hearing Dad? Did it happen? I get frustrated with myself, not knowing what’s real, what’s not, what was a dream, a memory, a flashback. All I know right now is Ava is real, she’s pregnant, I’m really fucking broken, my in-laws are here, and they know everything.
The door opens, and a head appears around it.
Who it is sends me into an instant spin. “Sarah?” I gasp, trying to sit up, cursing and giving up, falling back to my back on a hiss. “You can’t be here.” I’m ambushed by every shitty thing she’s done to us, panic overtaking me. She tried to break us up. She tried to chase Ava away. She whipped me, told Ava’s ex I’m an alcoholic, fed him shit on me.
Ava will lose her mind. I’ve put her through enough since I came round, offloaded the past I tried to bury, and now Sarah’s here? No. “Please, you have to go.”
“Ava knows I’m here,” she says, slipping in and closing the door.
“What?” I can’t imagine that’s true. Why would I believe her? She’s lied persistently and callously since I met Ava. I reach for my aching head, feeling information overload.
“She’s outside.” She stands at the end of my bed, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. I catch sight of a bandage on her wrist. And another memory comes to me.
“You tried—”
She shifts uncomfortably, rearranging her sleeves to cover the evidence. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible.”
She nods, not asking to take a seat, and I don’t offer her one either. I’m uncomfortable. Why is she here? “Jesse—”
“I can’t forgive you, Sarah,” I say, making her step back. “I can feel sorry for you, but I can’t forgive you for trying to ruin the best thing that’s happened to me since Rosie.”
Her eyes drop, shame emanating from her feeble form. “I didn’t want you to be happy without me.”
It’s a horrible punch in the gut. Horrible. “Why?”
“Because I’m in love with you,” she whispers, finally saying it out loud. “I’ve been in love with you since we were seventeen, Jesse. I stayed with Carmichael so I could stay with you. Got pregnant to keep my place in his life. Your life. I whipped people and imagined it was you. Punishment for not loving me back.”
I flinch, looking away from her. And I see a vision of her thrashing a man’s back, the look on her face. Enjoying herself.
“I hate Ava,” she goes on, on a roll, her voice now breaking, the tears flowing. “And I hate you for loving her. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to make you see me, then she walks into your office and within a second, you saw her.”
“You have to leave.”
“I know.” She sniffs, wiping her nose. “You won’t see me again.” She walks forward tentatively, coming close, taking advantage of my incapacitated state. I close my eyes as she slowly dips and pushes a kiss to my cheek, lingering. I hold my breath, feeling her lips quivering. Smell her. “Goodbye,” she whispers, finally breaking away. I open my eyes and watch as she walks to the door, and when she reaches it, she looks back. “I love you.”
I turn my face away from her, the pain doubling. As does the anger. The door closes, and I bite down on my teeth, clenching my fists. She couldn’t even apologize? She couldn’t be sorry? She didn’t even acknowledge the fucking state I’m in here. And yet, I don’t feel like I have the right to be mad. If that’s her way of letting me go, what the fuck do I care if she does or doesn’t care?
“You vindictive bitch!”
My eyes shoot toward the door. “Mum?” I whisper.
No.
But then . . .
Yes.
I’m ambushed by my mother’s sad face, her old hands pulling in her pale blue cardigan. Very quickly, I’m not thinking of the pain—physical or emotional. I throw the sheets back and heave my legs off the bed, cursing to high heaven. Okay, physical pain isn’t fucking off anytime soon. “Bastard,” I mutter, standing, the sheets slipping to my waist. I grab the tall metal stand beside my bed, not only for support, but because I can’t go anywhere without it. “Shit.” I take one unsteady step, holding the sheet around me. Then another. “Fuck!” My eyes bulge when something pulls on my insides, and I look back to see a tube trailing from the bed to my groin. “Fucking hell.” My cheeks balloon, sickness rising, blood draining from my head. I reverse my steps clumsily, pull the bag off the side of the bed, and re-hook it onto the frame with the other fluids, then stagger to the door, throwing it open.