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’m okay.” She breaks away from me and picks up her bag.
“You’re not okay, Ava,” I grate, feeling my patience disappearing.
“Something hasn’t agreed with me, that’s all.”
I stare at her, absolutely staggered. Is she for real? “For fuck’s sake, lady,” I breathe. “You’re at the fucking doctor’s surgery, so don’t tell me you’re fine.” I’m at a fucking loss. I have to turn away from her, my temper threatening, my hair getting a punishing yank. I should be yanking Ava’s head out of the fucking hole she’s got it buried in.
“I’m not pregnant,” she says, sounding . . . upset?
“What?” I ask, facing her.
“I’ve had it confirmed, Jesse.”
What is the pain in my chest? “Then why are you throwing up all over the place?”
“I have a sickness bug. You failed. My period came.”
My eyes naturally drop to the skirt of her dress. I don’t understand. She’s not pregnant? “I’m not happy about this.” A bug? Where has she caught a bug? And what the fuck is it? Is it dangerous? Because this sickness thing is violent. “I’m taking you home where I can keep an eye on you.” And maybe get a second opinion. Does she need meds? A jab? I grab her hand, and she immediately yanks it back, her face a picture of disgust.
“You’re never happy with me,” she says, struggling to get her words out, her face still damp, her skin still pale. “I’m always doing something to upset you. Have you thought that perhaps you would be less not happy without me around?”
What the fuck? “No.” What is she saying? I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Ava. Literally. “I’m worried, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t be,” she snaps. “I’m fine.” She turns and walks out, leaving me, not for the first time today, stunned into silence and stillness. Doesn’t she want me to look after her?
That makes me redundant. Not required.
Ouch.
But is she serious? Does she really believe I’m never happy with her? All I want is her. She’s my world. That’s why I married her. That’s why I do every crazy thing. Less not happy without her around? I can’t believe she would say that. Whether rashly or not, in spite or not.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
I eventually convince my legs to work and go after her, following her out of the building to the attached pharmacy, but I don’t go inside, leaving Ava to herself for a moment, hoping, maybe, she’ll take stock and come out feeling a bit more reasonable. So she’s got some medication for this bug?
Not pregnant?
Fuck me, I really am broken. She might be dead set against having kids now, but she might change her mind in the future. And I’ll be useless to her.
Not that any of this matters. She hates me right now.
I laugh under my breath and start pacing, feeling a stressed sweat developing. This is too much. Maybe it’s me who needs to see a doctor. Broken? Pickled. “Shit,” I breathe, turning on my Grensons and marching back, peeking inside as I pass the window. She’s sitting, waiting, her knee bouncing again. Still nervous. Up and down I go, having a heated discussion with myself, analyzing the situation, Ava’s persona, our marriage, my mental state. My conclusions aren’t reassuring.
I hear the door open, and she appears. Eyes me. “What’s that?” I ask, motioning to the paper bag in her hand.
She comes up close. Definitely not for a kiss. “Backup pills,” she says reproachfully. “Now we know I’m not pregnant; I want to stay that way.”
The sting is real. She doesn’t need pills, because I’ve clearly done myself some irreparable damage with years of drinking and mistreating myself. Another reason not to want me. Fuck.
She pivots and walks away, and the hollowness intensifies, my heart thumping with panic while slowing at the same time. “You’re not coming home, are you?” I call, my words as broken as I feel.
She doesn’t answer.
It’s a no.
Does that really mean she’s completely done with me?
11
I don’t remember my walk from the chemist to my car. I don’t remember the drive from Hammersmith to Lusso. I vaguely recall texting Kate to ask if Ava’s there, just to make sure. I got a thumbs up. Nothing more. I can’t blame her for giving me the cold shoulder and, really, she didn’t even owe me that thumbs up.
I watch my feet as I stride through the foyer to the elevator, hearing the new kid greet me. I think I hear him ask me where my wife is. I don’t answer. I get in and stare at the reflection in the mirror, but not the reflection of myself. I stare at the empty space next to me. Where she usually is. Beside me.
The doors open, I find my key, and let myself in. Cathy’s getting her coat on when I enter, her face a picture of happiness.