“Long. I was tired too. I didn’t sleep well. I was stuck sharing a blow-up mattress with Jae and the thing didn’t last more than a couple of hours before it was flat as a pancake. Plus, I didn’t have my Shiloh to snuggle with, so sleep would’ve been futile anyways.”
I bit back a smile, pleased to hear that I wasn’t alone in missing him in bed with me. It was strange to have become so comfortable with our routine in such a short amount of time. I never imagined I’d ever be comfortable sharing a bed with anyone again, but with Enoch it just felt natural. Aside from unlocking my new fear of accidentally murdering him during a sleepwalking panic attack.
“Where are you going to sleep tonight?”
“Eh. Probably just make up a bed of blankets on the floor.”
I scrunched my nose. “That sounds really uncomfortable.”
Enoch shrugged. “It’s only five more nights. I’ll survive.”
Enoch’s phone began vibrating against my leg on the mattress and we both eyed the screen. It was Rick.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I just forgot to call him back yesterday and he’s probably worried.”
“Well, answer the call. I’ll give you privacy,” I said, crawling off of his lap.
Enoch gave me a reluctant pout before relenting and swiping to answer the call.
“Hey, Rick.”
Enoch’s voice muffled as I closed the door to the bedroom. I released a sigh, dropping my body down onto the couch. I flopped onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
It did something to me, to be seen. To have someone crack open my chest and see all the darkness and have them still look at me the same.
One day at a time, Shiloh. One. Day. At. A. Time.
Thirty-Three
July 28, Tuesday
Enoch
After an hour-long deep dive during my lunch break at work today into this guy, Theo Walsh, I’d come to the sneaking conclusion that this church he ran was more than a little fishy. It was obvious now that Shiloh had been referring to this Reformation Church when she talked about how they encouraged whipping or belting. Not that any of that was found on their website, which led me to believe that either this pastor was doing shady stuff behind closed doors, or the whole church was doing shady stuff.
Either way I still hated the guy and couldn’t believe she was married to him for over a year.
I stopped pounding the heavy bag, resting my forehead against the material as I held onto it. My hands were aching from hitting the bag. I was panting hard, my heart racing as sweat dripped down my chin.
I could still hear Shiloh’s cries about not going into the bathtub, her fervent prayers for God to help her grow a child. My stomach clenched with an anger so fierce it made me nauseous. I knew from experience that just like I’d told Shiloh to do, theseemotions would eventually subside, I just needed to ride the wave. And right now, that wave was still a fucking tsunami.
I stood up, ready to beat the shit out of the bag again when something caught my eye in my periphery.
“Oh,” I muttered with surprise, dropping my gloved hands back to my sides. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. Is it too loud?”
My dad shook his head, remaining where he was leaned, arms crossed against the door frame.
“You look good. You’ve packed on some muscle.”
I shrugged. “Thanks.”
I cleared my throat, my heart still thumping loudly in my chest, and used my teeth to rip the Velcro off one of my gloves. I slipped my hand out, flexing the aching joints before grabbing my water bottle from the ground.
“You want to have a go?” I asked, motioning towards the heavy bag.
