Maybe she’s better off without me.
-??-
Chapter 22
Gabrielle's POV
The slamming of the door pulls me out of my dream. I drank quite a bit, and by now I’ve slept off the alcohol.
Sitting up on the couch, I notice Lincoln, that disgusting piece of shit, walk through the door, his head lowered in shame. I don’t want to talk to him. He pours some water and then stands in front of me.
“I know there’s nothing I can say… I’m not even going to ask you to forgive me… I’ll give you the divorce,” he says so quietly it’s hard to hear him.
He stands there for a while. What the fuck is he waiting for? A reply?
It makes me so upset that he quickly agreed to the divorce, like he was waiting for an opportunity.
So that’s it then.
He never loved me.
Good fucking riddance.
After he goes to the guest room, I feel the tears start cooking within my eyes. How could he be so cold? How could he treat me like this? What did I do wrong?
Does he love Sarah?
He lied to me. And was he only in a very good mood fucking me because he was fucking Sarah?
Who am I to stand in the way of a good thing.
If Sarah is who he wants then Sarah can be who he fucking gets.
I don’t know why, but I never thought Lincoln would ever do this to me. I could see him emotionally cheating, but going all the way like that, to the point where he’s in this woman’s bed smoking a blunt with her and shit… this is crazy. And the thing is, I can’t talk to anybody about it.
It’s embarrassing, and the biggest problem is where I’m going to live. If I go to live with my dad, it’s going to raise questions. Ones I don’t want to answer.
Not right now anyway.
Getting off the couch, I head for the bathroom. I need to pack a bag. Even though my body wants Lincoln, my heart is so done.
There’s a crazy part of me that even says I’d take him back if he grovels. But that’s the appetite for dick talking. My husband does have some good dick. Other women have gone after him before, but he’s never caved. Then again, he’s never worked so closely with them day in and day out.
He never set those boundaries because he never wanted to.
Climbing the stairs, there’s a sound, very unfamiliar, coming from the bedroom. The door is closed so it’s muffled. As I get closer, I hear crying. It’s a quiet but pain-filled sound.
“So stupid. So fucking stupid,” I hear Lincoln say amidst tears and the sound of smacking.
Maybe he’s hitting himself or something. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it over and over again, and it’s skin-to-skin contact.
Steeling my face, I enter the room and grab my luggage and start packing things.
Lincoln stops crying for the moment. He’s still sitting on the bed, his face red and wet, his hair a mess.
The dude looks terrible.
I almost jump out of my skin when I turn around and see him standing there. He’s shaking, his eyes darting around like he doesn’t want to meet my gaze.
