“If James told you he didn’t trust you to stop, how would you feel?” she asks, her voice kinder now, her hand resting on mine.
A rolling sick feeling twists inside me at the thought.
“It would kill me a little inside,” I reply quietly, the enormity of what I did last night catching up to me. I had well and truly fucked up.
“It did to him, too,” she says, reaching for my phone and passing it to me. “I called him and spoke to him while you were in the shower. Isabelle, that man is so deeply in love with you; the very thought of upsetting you devastates him. The idea that you may not trust him to take things slow, gentle, and considerately for you… I’ve never heard a man cry, Iz. Not until this morning. Please, go talk to him. You need to let go of your fear. I know that’s hard. You know I understand that.”
Yes, Miss
Vic had left a very violent relationship years ago and was assaulted many times by her dickhead ex. She knows the lingering doubts that haunt you.
“I will.” All appetite leaves me, nausea settling in.
“Eat first. And I’m staying in the spare room tonight. If you aren’t back by six, I’m going to the club without you.” She devours her fried chicken like an animal, making me laugh as I attempt to eat my own.
I knock on James’ door quietly, nervous to see him. To know Vic has spoken to him eases my worries a little, but I have some serious grovelling to do. The door opens, and I gasp quietly. James is in sweatpants and nothing else, unshaven, with stubble covering his jaw and looking like he hasn’t slept at all. He steps back, sweeping his hand to invite me in wordlessly.
I step in, taking in his musky scent and the warmth of his chest as I brush past him. He closes the door and walks into the kitchen, leaving me standing in the hallway. The coldness and lack of contact jars me, and I realise just how much I have lost with him and it tears me apart.
I hear the kettle boiling and follow him in. He grabs two mugs and puts them on the counter, moving an empty whisky bottle and glass aside, evidence of his evening alone.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
The silence presses in, the weight of it crushing me. The spoon clinks against the mug as he stirs. He places the hot drink in front of me and leans back against the counter, sipping from his own mug, his eyes downcast at the floor.
I clear my throat, needing to steel myself for being the first to speak, but I owe him this. “I’m so sorry I ran last night. I know I hurt you a lot. You've never done anything for me to question you or doubt my trust in you…” I trail off, not sure how to even carry on.
James stands there, still sipping his coffee, looking down at the floor. My heart pounds as I use every ounce of courage and grit I have to continue talking. His lack of response or even eye contact feels like an icy wall between us.
“I freaked out. I'm sorry. I'm far from perfect, and my default setting is to push people away so they don't get close enough to realise I'm not good enough for them, that I'm damaged goods. I should have stayed and talked it out with you.”
I watch his face, waiting for his response, but he still stands there looking down, his cup half-empty, his eyes still not meeting mine.
My heart silently breaks as I realise I’ve lost him. I pushed him away, and he isn't going to fight for me, and why should he? I hurt him, I didn’t trust him, and I bolted
Yes, Miss
when he was at his most vulnerable and trusting. I’m a total piece of shit.
I’m wasting my time. He doesn’t want me. I’ve hurt him too much to come back from this. I need to leave. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to me.
The tension in the room thickens with the increasing silence.
“I just came to say that. I'm sorry. I’ll leave now and let you have some peace. I understand if this is the end of us. I won't make things awkward at work…” My voice is thick as the lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I turn to walk out of the kitchen, my heart breaking at not being able to touch him, to kiss him again, to hear his heart beating as I lay my head on his chest to go to sleep.
And I’ve only just come to realise it’s my favourite sound in the world.
As I reach the kitchen doorway, I feel a strong hand around my wrist pulling me back, my heart thudding in my chest. He backs me against the kitchen door, his chest pressed against mine, his eyes blazing with anger but also something deeper—pain or anguish.
His breathing is ragged, arms braced either side of me as he lowers his head until his lips are mere millimetres away from my own.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
“You’re not fucking leaving again. You will never run away from me again. Do you understand? You don't get to run every time shit gets difficult. We talk. We work it out. Together. Do you understand?”
The roughness in his voice tugs at me. I nod, unable to speak a word at this change in him.
His hand comes up to stroke my cheek as he leans in, his lips brushing mine. “Tell me you understand, Isabelle, because I can't do last night again. You fucking broke me in two, heart and soul. I thought I had lost you before we even really got going.” His warm breath fans across my lips. I push forward to kiss him, but he steps back, leaving me adrift, feeling like I am untethered and about to fall off a cliff.
