I’m not sleeping or eating properly.
It doesn’t feel right to be alone in my apartment, on this sofa, in my bed, but I don’t want to be anywhere else either.
The thought of going to a club or a bar or even the local pub is enough to turn my stomach.
There’s something up with me. At first, I thought it was guilt after what I’d put Giselle through, the way I’d made her feel abandoned, the way I’d made her cry until she couldn’t even bear to look at me.
But now I’m starting to think it’s something more because I can’t seem to get my head back in the game. I can hardly think at work; I’m making mistakes and struggling to pay attention to anything except the door leading away from the main area of the gym.
The one I know Giselle is somewhere behind.
This whole giving her space thing is driving me fucking crazy. I want to see her, to talk to her, to figure out if this electrical connection we have between the two of us is salvageable.
Patience isn’t a strong point of mine – it never has been.
I just wish I knew what was going through her head.
I know she misses me too; I heard her confession today after she’d thanked me for the bunch of tulips I’d lain beside her mediation studio door. I’m not giving up hope that we can sort this out, but the distance between us is killing me.
Which is laughable really, seeing asI’mthe one who put us in this position in the first place.
But I’m ready to fix my mistake now because I know Giselle is worth it.
It’s worth it, to face my fear head on, if it means I get to have her at the end.
I can’t explain how I know, I just do, the same way I’ve heard my other brother’s and my dad when they talk about how they knew they we’re falling in…
Shit.
Is this what this feeling is? These butterflies in my stomach, the knot of guilt I can’t seem to get rid of at the knowledge I fucked up and hurt her feelings, the constant ache I feel to be around her, to hold her in my arms and protect her?
Planting my feet on the floor, I push myself off the sofa in search of a beer. I need something, anything, to steady my nerves.
Grabbing an ice-cold beer from the back of my fridge, I knock the lid off using the edge of my kitchen counter and gulp back half of it in one go.
Swiping away the residual foam with the back of my hand, I set down the bottle, brace both of my hands on the hard granite stone and hang my head, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
I wait for my heart to begin racing, but it never does.
It’s as if it’s known all along, simply waiting for my brain to catch up.
Fucking hell…
Opening my eyes, I wrap my fingers around the thin bottle of cheap beer, bringing the neck up to my lips again.
I take a small sip this time, savouring the taste of hops coating my tastebuds and then, in the privacy of my own space, I grin. Widely. Unabashedly.
“You look like shit.”
I scoff at my older brother, Blake, sliding into the seat opposite his at exactly one minute to eleven on Saturday morning. “Thanks. Nice to see you too.”
“Have you not been sleeping?” He continues on his tirade of worrying about me, pretending as if I never spoke, “I’ve never seen the bags under your eyes looks so purple before. Do I need to call Mum?”
I shake my head, scrubbing at my forehead with my fingertips and then I shrug. “I don’t know. Whatever you want.”
“Hudson, what the fuck is wrong?” Blake knocks my hand away from my face, leaning across the wooden table, so he can see every inch of me. “Is it your job?”
“No.”
