—P
Chapter Eighteen
WEST
Two. Fucking. Weeks.
No response to my texts, not a single call returned. I’ve taken the advice of the men I trust most, and I’m giving Blue space to breathe.
But if my wife wants me to feel the sting of missing her, mission fucking accomplished.
The TV’s blaring in the background, but I can’t recall any of the shit that’s been on the screen the last few hours. I just get up in the morning and turn it on to make the house feel less empty, to cover the fact that I’m alone here. The only time I’ve even bothered to leave home over the past fourteen days was for my MRI.
The couch is my bed now, since I can’t seem to sleep in myactualbed, and it feels like the walls are closing in on me. I feel zero shame admitting the words that have been cycling through my head on repeat.
I miss my fucking wife.
Bad.
The thought has me reaching for my phone again, and I shoot Blue another text. A text she’ll probably read then ignore, because she needs space, but shit…
I’m fucking dying over here.
West: I just want to hear from you, Blue. Can I at least get a text back?
I set the phone down and try to focus on the TV, but I can’t. It’s just noise cluttering my head, so I mute it and grab the phone again.
West: Please. Just… please.
I set it down again, stand, pace between the couch and coffee table, trying to get my heart to stop racing, but it’s no use. I’ve been all nerves and anxiety for days now. The only thing that’ll fix it is her.
Without thinking, my phone is in my hand again.
West: Please, Blue. I love you. You have to fucking know that. Please say something.
I toss the phone to the couch this time, knowing this is all for nothing.
“Fuck!”
The air around me feels hotter than it did a moment ago, so I slip out of my sling, then pull my shirt off. I put the sling back on, then drop down onto the couch, gripping my hair.
“What the hell have I done?”
My thoughts are back on that night at the bar, where one beer turned into two, then too many to count. I knew what I was doing, knew she’d be pissed, but I couldn’t stop myself. All I could think about was numbing the pain. Not the physical pain.
The pain in my head.
My heart.
My soul.
Everything’s just been so fucking heavy lately, and I just wanted to not feel it for a little while. I stupidly thought Blue would give me a pass, but I should’ve known better. She went through hell as a kid, and here I am making her relive all the bad shit.
I’m on my feet again, pacing because it’s all Icando.
I glance toward my phone again, aching to send another text that’ll only go unanswered, but just as I reach for it, a sharp buzz draws my attention toward the foyer.
Someone’s at the gate, and while I’d love to think it’s my wife, she wouldn’t need to buzz to get in. So, my steps are slow and disinterested.
