Chapter Thirty-Two
ELLA
The longer I sit, the more I wonder what I’m doing here.Five more minutes. I look down at my phone, repeating the same thing I’d told myself five minutes ago—ten minutes ago. Okay, an hour ago.
How long will I sit here, wondering? How long will I allow myself to wonder what he’s doing and with who?Or is it whom? Yes, it’s definitely whom.
I’d come here—come home—to speak to him. To make amends. To tell him I only sent him away to stop him from seeing my tears. As it is, it’s likely he’ll see the evidence of my earlier tears. I’ve washed my face and brushed my hair out and gathered it into a ponytail. But I haven’t changed—I’m still wearing the yoga pants and zipped hoodie I’d left the club in. I didn’t see much point in trying too hard as the evidence of my upset still lingers in my puffy eyes and Rudolph nose.
If he doesn’t turn up soon, he might see more than the evidence. He might see the real thing. And if he doesn’t come home, what then? Do I pack up my belongings and leave for good? No. I think I need to face him. Initially, it was to apologise for keeping things from him, but the longer I sit here, the less chance there is of this. Because, at almost two o’clock in the morning, it seems more and more likely that I’llseewe’re through when he walks through the door with a girl tucked under his arm.
The thought makes my stomach churn. Makes my chest ache. Makes my nails dig into my palms as though I’m considering slapping a bitch.
Five more minutes and I’m leaving. Five more minutes and I’m walking out of this door never to return. But even that’s not true. Even if I abandoned my belongings, I’d still need to say goodbye to Louis.
‘Fuck it,’ I say to the empty room. ‘This was a mistake.’ Uncurling my legs, I swipe my phone from the arm of the chair and head down against the deluge of memories. My vision is blurred as I barrel my way out of the room, when several things seem to happen all at once.
The door slams. Keys chink as they’re dropped to the table in the hallway. Sharp fingers catch my elbow.
My body stiffens under his grasp, my heart beating a tattoo.
‘Get off!’ I yell, my tears turning to anger.
‘What are you doing here?’ Mac’s words are harsh, too, his tone fierce. ‘And stop fighting, you wee fool. It’s me.’
‘I know who it is!’ I yell back. I’m not a yeller. Or a fighter. I’m more likely to cry quietly. Leave. Run away. Oh, God, thatiswhat I do.
‘Oof! Watch where you’re plantin’ those elbows. Y’ nearly had my balls.’
‘Good! I wished I had hit them.’ My words are more than just hard edged—I totally mean them as I struggle to free my arm from his grasp.
‘Let go. Fucking. Let. Go!’
‘Such bad words,’ he chastises. ‘Someone should wash your mouth out.’
The way he says this sounds so gritty and dirty. Like he’d wash my mouth out with something other than water, given half a chance.
‘I’d like to see you fucking try.’ My heart thunders like hooves as I lash out with my foot, catching him in the shin. Unfortunately, I’m wearing running shoes rather than steel-toe boots.
‘Let go!’ Mac spins me, my back plastered to his front.
‘I will not. Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.’
Not a chance. ‘You smell like cheap perfume,’ I grate out, trying to pull my arms free from where they’re captured by my sides.
‘Do I?’
‘There’s no need to sound so delighted about it.’
‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’ Part words, part breathless chuckle, his reaction increases my ire, but I’m helpless as he presses his mouth to my ear, whispering, ‘But you’d be wrong.’
Shock is the first emotion to register, followed quickly by sickness. He just admitted it—admitted he’s been with someone while I’ve been sitting here waiting. The knowledge is like a rock shot at my chest.
‘You bastard! You absolute bastard.’ My words are expelled through angry sobs as I yank one hand free and begin hammering his shoulder with my fist.
‘It’s not very nice, is it?’ He then grunts as I catch him in the chest with a good one.
‘I hope it wasn’t. I hope she gave you fucking herpes!’
