He deservednothing.
Jethro groaned, but his eyes remained closed. The fumes of alcohol soaked the air around him. His arm flung out, seeking something.
I scrambled out of reach.
He mumbled, his face screwed up and sunken.
What the hell is he doing in here?
I couldn’t stop the crashing waves of dislike, distrust, and utter resentment taking hold.
He flinched, grunting as if in pain.
Climbing to my feet, I darted around the bed and snuggled back into warm sheets. I wanted him gone!
Curling my legs up beneath me, I wrapped the covers tight like a fortress. “Get.Out.” My voice was full of contempt.
Shuffling sounded below, but no reply. A few tense minutes ratcheted my heart rate, before he slowly inclined from lying to sitting. His back rested against my bed as he groaned, grabbing his head. “Fuck.”
He didn’t look up. His long legs bent, the rest of his body wrung out and weary.
The love I’d had for him wanted to comfort, but the repulsion of him leaving me last night made me hunker deeper into my quilt and glower.
Rubbing both hands over his face, he yawned. Every motion was lethargic and reeking of drunkenness.
So he’d left me at the fate of his family to drink last night?
Arsehole. Complete and utterarsehole.
Looking over his shoulder, he froze.
My breathing ceased. My blood curdled. “Leave.”
The single syllable hung between us like a deflating balloon falling to thecarpet.
Jethro swallowed. Pain and intoxication swam in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. Gone was the refined gentleman who hid so much. Gone were the chiselled cheekbones and radiant golden eyes.
The man before me...the man who’d hurt me, crushed me, and still held my heart in his traitorous hands was a mere shadow of himself—not even a shadow—an extinguished, extinct, broken thing.
We stared for a millennium.
Slowly, his lips tilted into a grimace; he bestowed the saddest, sweetest smile and staggered to his feet. “I’m sorry.” With an unsteady wave, he swayed to the door. “Didn’t want you to wake...alone. Wanted to keep you...safe.”
His voice roped around my heart, forcing it to beat and flurry. His steps were terminally empty, staggering toward the exit.
That was it?
No heartfelt plea or fervent explanation?
Just‘I’m sorry?’
“No, you know what?” I threw the duvet away and hurled myself out of bed. Storming after him, I grabbed his forearm and dug my nails into his flesh. “Sorry isn’t good enough.” Tears exploded into being—a salty river flowing unheeded down my cheeks. “Sorrydoesn’t cover what you’ve done to me.Sorrywill never be good enough!”
He stood there like a township sacked by pillaging enemies. He didn’t move to shrug me off or argue or explain. He just curled into himself, squeezing his eyes as tight as possible.
I hit him.
“Tell me what they did to me!”
