“Thank you,” I breathe.
“The couch, yeah?” He asks.
I nod, “Let me grab some bedding for you.”
But he shakes his head, “Ness, go to bed. Get some sleep.”
“But–”
“Show me where Ethan is,” He says, “I’ll handle him tonight and the morning. Please rest.”
“If this is about the videos… I was in a bad place…”
“Shh, Ness. It’s not. It’s about splitting this equally. You rest, I’ve got this.”
“He might be unsettled because he’s used to me being here,” I say, uneasy.
“We will be fine,” He tells me, jerking his chin towards the door, “Go rest, ness. You need it.”
“Okay, well,” I chew my lip, “Good night, I guess.”
“Night, trouble.”
My emotions are in a knot inside my stomach, part butterflies, part an angry swarm of wasps. Despite him telling me not to worry about it, I grab spare blankets and pillows and creep back out to the living room.
He’s in front of the now thriving fire and in his hand is the small wooden carving. I’d hidden it earlier when he came over but the moment he was gone, it was back on the mantel. The room always feels incomplete without it.
Placing the blankets down close to the couch quietly, I sneak back out, checking in on Ethan before I go to bed myself.
My breath leaves me in a whoosh as I hit the mattress and pull the blankets up to my chin, sinking into my pillows. I’m very aware of his presence, even though he’s in a completely different room. I can hear him moving about, hear the crackle of the fire as he tends to it and his soft footsteps as he steps on the creaky floorboards scattered throughout the house.
My eyes are heavy and stinging with fatigue, but I almost don’t want to give into sleep. It makes me feel vulnerable and I’ve been so determined not to be vulnerable again. Because that’s how he made me feel. And it’s so wrong of me to put that pressure on him, to make him out like he’s the bad guy, because deep down I know he’s not.
But it hurts. It hurts so bad, remembering how it was when it was just Ethan and me, how lonely I felt. It hurts remembering waking up the morning after I shared myself with Kolt to find him gone and unreachable. I felt used. So damn used, and cheap and then the baby happened.
I throw myself onto my side and force my eyes closed. It was easy to push these memories away over the past couple of years because of how busy I’ve been but now he’s here, I can’t fight them.
I hadn’t really thought about how far he had dug himself into me. How much of him is woven into the fabrics of me.
I think I loved him then. After those few short weeks, I think I fell in love with him, and I guess they do say first love always hurts the worse.
Eventually, the fatigue takes control and I pass out only to be woken by the shrill scream of my son.
The sun is shining now though, breaking through a crack in the curtains, which means I’d slept at least four hours, which is longer than any stretch I’ve had in years. Rolling over, I grab my cell and click the screen on to check the time, bolting up in bed and an instant sweat breaking out when I see it’s almost eleven A.M.
I’ve slept almost eight hours!
I throw the blankets off, but they land in a pile on the floor which I get tangled up in as I try to get out of bed. My knees hit the floor with a loud thump which makes me wince, but I can barely focus on the pain that shoots through my joints as Ethan’s cry still echoes through the house.
Fuck, how did I sleep so long!?
I throw my door open, sprinting out and towards Ethan’s room. Guilt works through me, pressing in, hammering in. Making me question my ability as a mother but when I get to Ethan’s room, it’s empty, his bed is made, the curtains have been opened. But he still cries.
Then I remember Kolt.
He promised he had Ethan last night. He let me sleep.
But something is wrong.
