It’s a stupid reason, but his hurricane preparedness makes him look like a hero in my eyes. After filling all the bathtubs with water, we meet in the living room to watch the hurricane coverage. Beau has tea and blankets, as promised. I settle onto the plush, blue sofa and rest my feet on the ottoman with a long appreciative sigh.
“I told you, you were tired,” Beau points out as he hands me my tea.
“Maybe a little,” I confess.
I watch him settle in close to me, throw a warm, cozy blanket over our legs and grab his tea.
“You’re so about to fall asleep again.”
I take a long sip of my tea while ignoring his statement. I stare at the cup and then take another sip. I moan my delight when the taste doesn’t change.
“You like it? It’s my special blend,” he brags.
“In that case, eww!”
Beau chuckles then kisses me on my forehead.
“Don’t be a jerk.” His green eyes sparkle in the low light from the television.
All his sexiness, I’ve been ignoring, hits me in a flash. I’m blushing again, and I don’t like it. I gulp the rest of my tea as a distraction. I pretend not to see his smirk as I laser focus on the television. All the channels say the same thing.
‘We’re not on the dirty side of the hurricane, but the worst will happen overnight.’
‘Hunker down.’
‘Do not try to evacuate at this point.’
My head falls onto Beau’s shoulder; my eyelids feel heavy.
“Celeste?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m trained to know when someone is omitting something from the truth…” I pick my head up and look into his eyes. “I know you’re not telling me the whole story. I’m here to listen when you’re ready to talk.”
I’m too tired to argue or explain; I nod as my eyes drift closed.
Celeste
Weston The Devil:Bitch, I signed the papers.
Me: Seriously?!
Weston The Devil: Don’t act so excited, whore. I was the best husband you ever had.
I ignored his words and smiled at the picture mail he sent of the divorce papers with his rude-ass signature taking up most of the space.
Me: Send them to my lawyer, please?
Weston The Devil: I’m not doing shit for your lazy ass! If you want them, come and get them.
Me: When?
Weston The Devil: Later. I’m a busy man. I’m not stopping my day for a moron. Don’t text me anymore. I’ll let you know.
Even with his abusive language, I was excited. I downloaded the picture and sent it to my parents. I then sent it to my group chat with my closest friends. Nothing could knock me off my cloud. I was going to be free. No more walking on eggshells, worried about being hit for making too much noise or saying something stupid. No more accusations of cheating. No more being slapped because he didn’t like what I was wearing even though he’d bought all my clothes. No more pretending to like sex. No more cruel names, hospital visits, no more starving when he thought I was too big to eat. No more mind games.
My happiness started to shift into irritation as the day continued. Weston was such an asshole that he’d waited until almost midnight to contact me. I was lying on the couch, fuming, when my phone’s ringer blasted in the room. I answered quickly.
