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 she knows it.
Chapter 28
The entire drive home, Ava’s fingers remained clawed into the leather of her seat. It didn’t make me take my foot off the pedal. Either the car took the heat of my anger, or Ava did, and shouting and screaming at her wouldn’t have helped either of us.
I’m surprised my Aston’s door doesn’t drop to the gravel driveway on a scream of pain after I’ve viciously slammed it shut. Ava’s out of the car far quicker than I expected she could manage, hobbling to the door.
I hurry to catch up, my instinct to help her taking over and taming my anger. ‘I can walk.’ She bats my hands away as I try to pick her up. ‘Leave me alone.’
I will never leave her alone. Leaving her alone would be as good as giving up, and where my wife is concerned, I never give up. As gently as I can, I lunge in and swipe her from her feet, lifting her over my shoulder. ‘Forget it, lady.’ The smashing of her fists into my back are a sign of her trying to make a stand more than a means of escape. We both know she’s going nowhere until I release her.
‘I said leave me alone!’ she screams, half-vexed, half-hysterical. It’s exactly how I feel inside. I absorb each blow, pacing towards the door. ‘Jesse!’
‘Shut the fuck up, Ava,’ I warn, kicking the door open once I’ve unlocked it.
‘You’re an animal!’
‘Story of my fucking life where you’re concerned.’ I lower her to her feet. The fists that were smacking pointlessly at my back begin pounding at my chest. And I just stand, motionless, letting her vent and thrash out, screaming her frustration.
If only I had the same kind of outlet. Something to beat and pound and scream at. But I don’t, so I savour her brutal smashes of my torso, hoping that at the same time she beats the frustration out of me, too.
She goes for it mercilessly, her strength fuelled by her despair.
And I’m fine with it. I’d be her punching bag for the rest of my miserable days if it would make her feel even the tiniest bit better. Because, ultimately, while I’m in pieces trying to navigate my way through this unfamiliar, painful territory, the love of my life is in more despair. While I have our memories to cling to, she does not. While I have our children’s faces to picture during this nightmare, every moment of their short lives to remember, she does not. While I have hope and recognise the glimmers of her recollections, she does not.
My thoughts take over, anger burning my insides as she continues to scream and punch. ‘Go on!’ I roar, and she starts, moving back. ‘Fucking hit me, Ava! It can’t feel any worse than how I’m hurting here.’ I smash my fist into my chest. ‘So hit me!’
I close my eyes as she comes at me again. And while she’s lashing out, I think about how powerful our love is. Not as powerful as I always thought, because if it was, surely it would shine through anything. Even this.
It takes me a few seconds to realise that she’s stopped thumping me, and when I open my eyes, I find her heaving before me, her hair a crazy mess around her face, her eyes wild. We stare at each other for a few moments, me expressionless, Ava clearly shocked by her outburst. Or shocked that I’ve stood here and accepted it. Because what the fuck else would I do? Retaliate? Hit her back? Her thinking that might be a possibility makes me feel sick. Makes me want to hurt myself to demonstrate that I’d take everything before I’d let anything cause her pain.
Just seeing her before me looking so lost and hopeless, clearly wondering what I’m thinking, and me knowing what she’s thinking, only amplifies my despair. And my anger. I can’t take this.
I leave her to compose herself in the hallway while I stalk through the house to the games room, my mind set on one thing. The one thing that will numb me. The one thing that will take me away from my nightmare. My eyes home in on the bottle set on the bar; the respite that just a few swigs could give me is too tempting to pass up. I shrug my suit jacket off and toss it to the carpet, then yank my tie loose and pop open the top button of my collar, too.
My eyes still on that bottle, my hand goes through my hair roughly. Long-lost memories of the alcohol-induced haze of nothingness return full force. I need that nothingness right now. Because if this is how my life is going to feel from now on, then I’m out. I’m done.