Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
‘And I do, too.’ I shrug when she shoots me an interested look. ‘A little.’
‘You buy all my underwear, don’t you?’
‘It’s my favourite kind of shopping,’ I admit, unabashed.
She nods, slowly and unsurely, our eye contact never wavering. But the lust I always find so hard to control when we’re alone together, especially when lace is thrown into the mix, isn’t as strong today. Not for me, and not for her. It’s brutal, but I know sex isn’t going to fix this.
‘So I guess I should put one of these on?’ she finally asks.
I hate that it’s a question. And I hate even more that I have to answer with the answer I don’t want to give. ‘Wear what makes you comfortable.’ I push my shoulder off the door. ‘I’ll leave you to shower. I have T-shirts in the drawer if you’d prefer.’
I make my way downstairs, trying so hard not to feel defeated by such a trivial thing. Lace. It’s trivial but means so much to both of us.
I grab a beer from the fridge, then make my way into the games room and plonk down heavily on one of the leather couches. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I find my Sonos app and put on some music, if only to kill the unbearable sound of my thoughts. Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ comes on, and I don’t bother changing it. It seems too apt.
My eyes fall to the bar in the corner, where every liquor known to man is stashed. Not for my enjoyment – I haven’t touched the hard stuff for years – more for that of our guests when we entertain. But that vodka . . .
What I would do right now to escape from this nightmare. To get blind fucking drunk and pass out, and hopefully wake up to my life as it should be.
I tear my gaze away, drop my head back, and let my thoughts continue to torment me as the track goes on. Let the pain penetrate deeper, because she’s upstairs showering alone. And I’m down here feeling useless.
I finish the bottle of beer but resist getting another, and go to the office. I sit at the desk and fire up the iMac, and then search through the files until I find what I’m looking for. The photos. Thousands snapped from the very beginning, to just recently at my fiftieth. Moments captured in time, faces smiling, and sometimes even scowling. Endless happy memories, every photograph loaded with love. I click through, my pain worsening with each image. How can she not remember any of this? How can she not remember me? I drop the mouse and scrub my hands down my rough face, feeling so fucking knackered – physically, emotionally. I need a shower, too.
I leave the folder open, ready to let Ava scroll through the years when she’s ready, then drag myself upstairs. There’s not a peep from our bedroom, and when I push into our room, I find Ava snuggled up in our bed. I can’t help feeling hurt. She’s always claimed it’s impossible to get to sleep without lying on my chest. Then I feel a little hopeful, because she’s wearing the lace instead of the T-shirt I offered. I ignore the fact that she has always slept naked. Baby steps.
After creeping to the bathroom, I take a quick, lonely shower, and then I trim my stubble, taking it down to the three days’ worth that she loves so much. I spend only a few seconds taking in the man before me. I’m a fucking mess. I feel weak, disheartened and sad. I’ve been in hell before, and I feel like I’m free-falling back there now. Why? Why is this happening? What did I do?
I brace my hands on the sink and breathe deeply, trying not to let the anger that’s brewing erupt. I don’t like it when things are out of my control, and right now, my world is spiralling into fucking bedlam. And there’s nothing I can do about it, only hope. My shoulders rolling with the strain of keeping my temper contained, I growl, my teeth clenched, desperate to hit something.
I look up and face myself again. And before I realise what’s happened, the mirror shatters and my knuckles split. It’s okay, though. Now my reflection looks exactly how I feel.
Broken.
Chapter 14
I can’t stand how quiet it is around here. I can’t hear the kids tearing through the house, can’t hear the coffee brewing, can’t hear Ava shouting at the twins to get their little arses into gear for school. It’s deadly silent.
I stare at the coffeemaker for a few seconds, feeling anger building. It’s just a coffeemaker. But it’s a coffeemaker that’s always brewing when I get downstairs in the morning, because my wife has switched it on. It’s her thing. That’s what she does, and today she hasn’t. Because she doesn’t know.