I wrecked everything, tearing through the kitchen, crashing through to the living room. I didn’t care anymore. Plates smashed, furniture overturned, until my chest heaved and my hands dripped with blood.
I fell to my knees, gasping for air, my thoughts a swirling mess of guilt, rage, andher.
I wasn’t letting her go. I couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. Even if I had to crawl on my hands and knees, even if it took everything I had, I was going to get her back.
Ainsley was mine. She didn’t get to walk away—not from me. She could scream, hate me, tear me apart, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
And I’d do whatever it took to make sure of that.
22
AINSLEY
I broke into a run halfway to my place, needing to crawl under my bed and never wake up. I wanted this to be over, I needed this to be unreal. My heart hurt too much, my chest...it was painful. I couldn’t breathe.
But I ran, the air cold against my heated skin and wet face. There was nothing to think about. He was the cause of everything. He was the reason why I scooped poop and scrubbed floors, he was the reason why I’d had thoughts about killing myself. He was the reason why I cut off everyone and moved back to this town. He was behind the difficulties I faced. He was. He was. How could he?
I didn’t leave him, he was supposed to get that. How could he ruin my life? Attempted murder? Christ.
I dashed into my house and locked the door, breathing heavily. The first thing I did was drag a kitchen stool to the wall clock, sick of having him watch me every single hour. I climbed onto it and grabbed the clock, smashing it on the floor from my height. I got down on it and jumped on the object till it shattered to pieces, vomiting the camera.
It was similar to the one I saw on the shelf, and I stomped on it over and over, not stopping even after it was destroyed. There was more in this house, maybe in the kitchen. I hated him. Why would he? Why?
My legs ached, so I gave up and walked inside, leaving the mess behind. I was tired—drained, actually. I didn’t know if it was the stress from Ma’am Jeena’s coffee shop catching up to meor everything else. Or maybe it was the tears and the race home that had wiped me out. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to fall asleep and disappear into nothingness.
When I returned to my room, the chaotic heap of clothes on the floor greeted me, mocking my stupidity. How clueless I had been. Frustration bubbled up, and I slammed the closet door shut, throwing myself onto the bed and rolling up in the blankets. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry again. But the tears came anyway, betraying me. Stupid fucking tears.
The Sunday sun was relentless, burning through the curtains too brightly, and it felt like it was searing my skin. I opened my eyes, dragged myself to the window, and yanked the curtains shut. But when I crawled back into bed, sleep eluded me. By the time I forced myself up again, it was already after three p.m. I hadn’t meant to sleep that long, but my body had clearly needed the rest.
As soon as I left the bed, reality came crashing down on me, my heart splintering all over again. I considered falling back into the sheets, but I shook my head and went to the bathroom. I couldn’t even summon the energy to cringe at my swollen face in the mirror. My eyes, my cheeks—puffy and blotchy. The locket around my neck caught the light, the one I hadn’t taken off since that night on the couch. Angrily, I yanked it off and threw it into the sink.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I’d slept with it next to me all night, yet still nothing from him. No message. No call. Good. I didn’t want to hear from him anyway.
I jumped into the shower, rushing through it before the tears could come again. The water always made it worse. I didn’t want to cry anymore—I had done enough of that already. It was like pushing against a rising tide, fighting back the memories, forcing my mind not to drift to him. God, it was so exhausting.
After the shower, I tried to busy myself, cooking up some food to keep my hands occupied. But once it was done, I stared at it, the appetite completely gone. I dumped the plate into the sink. Useless.
With nothing else to do, I called Ma’am Jeena.
“Hey, good evening.”
“Ainsley,” she said, distracted by the loud shuffling noises in the background. “What’s up, dear?”
“Just wanted to ask if you need me for work today. I’m available.”
“Oh, sweetheart. What about tomorrow? You sound tired. Take a rest today, okay?”
Disappointed, I forced a smile. “Sure. Tomorrow, then.”
“And don’t forget to eat, alright?”
“Yes, Ma’am Jeena, I’ve already eaten,” I lied. My stomach hadn’t felt food in over twenty-four hours.
After hanging up, I scanned the house. I needed to do something—anything—to keep my mind off him. Laundry.
I gathered my clothes and tossed them into the washing machine. As they spun, I swept the whole house, room by room, not sparing an inch of space. Then I took the laundry out, hung everything to dry, and even cleaned outside. The busier I kept, the more I could stop myself from thinking. From reasoning. Stupidly, a part of me had already started to soften. To try and see things from his point of view. But no. I shook the thought away. He’d gone too far.
By the time I was done with everything, exhaustion hit me like a brick wall. It was after seven, and my stomach growled angrily. In the kitchen, I stared at the food I had dumped earlier.
