The last thing I want is to get stuck in the middle of drama. Why am I even here anyway?
Sarah is giving me this glare, and I want so badly to smack the facial features off that bitch. Oh… how I wantnothingmore than to break her fingers, grab her wrist, and use the bones on them to claw her fucking face off her head.
But I’m in a decent place right now. And I’m not going to mess it up and make the same mistake. Ineedto get control of my emotions.
My mother was good with that. I can’t just fly off the handle every time something upsets me. And the greatest power you could ever give someone who is your enemy is having them control your emotions. Having them push you into doing something that makes them right about you.
No word or action should cause me to bend to the will of anybody. That’s not who my mother was, and that’s not who I want to be.
So I get my hand bag and I leave, figuring that when Lincoln is awake, or when they’re discharging him, they’ll let me know.
I care about him.
I do.
But he’s not totally in bad hands, because Sarah is here. And even if he wakes up screaming, guess what? Maybe that’s something he deserves to experience. Because had he not hurt me, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
Sarah’s who he chose, so Sarah is who he should be stuck with right now.
I go home.
When I walk into Lincoln’s house, Morris is already by the door.
“Oh, you poor baby,” I say, bending to pick him up. “I’m so sorry we left you alone,” I say to the cat, cuddling him like a baby, holding him on my hip.
“Daddy’ll be home in a little bit. He’s just, I don’t know, going through some stuff right now. But you got me,” I say, smiling at him.
I keep my busy self around the house, doing everything I can.
I cook a bunch of food. When Lincoln’s all better, he’ll need to eat. Whenever he was sick, he wouldn’t eat much, but when he started feeling better, he was always ravenous, always wanting to eat everything under the sun.
So I cook all the foods I know he’ll like.
Sarah’s the one that should be doing this. That bitch doesn’t even cook.
Why do men always do that? They swap out the upgrade for the old model. That’s basically a lemon. Whatever.
I’m not gonna lie. There’s a huge part of me that feels a bit of pride, knowing that the better I cook this food and the more love I put into it, when Lincoln tastes it, not only is it gonna make Sarah mad if she finds out I’m feeding him, but it’s also gonna make Lincoln feel even more regret.
Good.
He should.
Let every taste of my food stab him in the heart and remind him what he lost.
It’s not like I’m staying here forever.
It’s Thursday morning.
Why didn’t I get anything from Lincoln?
Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I squint at the screen. My notifications load, and my stomach hits the mattress. I have a bunch of missed calls from his cell phone.
Practically launching myself out of bed, still in my panties, I call back immediately . The phone rings and rings.
Nobody picks up.
I call again.
