Chapter 31
CHASTITY
The next day it rains heavily, the skies as grey as the rain-slicked pavements, and a perfect backdrop to my mood.
‘Just a hand?’ Paisley says, her tone careful. She’d turned up about an hour ago, taking one look at me before opening her arms. But I couldn’t cry. I don’t want to be consoled. ‘Nothing else to prove either way?’ she continues in the same tone.
‘Just a white shirt, no watch on his wrist.’ I shake my head, the images alive in my mind for the millionth time. Her eyes. Her mouth. His cock.
‘Does Flynn even wear a watch?’
‘What does it matter? What I’m trying to say is, I couldn’t tell either way. But it was onhisphone.’ I rub my hand over my face, so sick of thinking about this. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to think? Tell me—am I wrong? Did I react in the wrong way?’ Because the more I think about it, the more I wonder.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Chas. If I were in your shoes? I just don’t know. But I don’t think I could saythat’s it—I give up. I’d need to know for certain.’
Discomfort hits me in the centre of my chest, a million things still swirling through my head. Isn’t it better to cut my losses now? Chalk up my mistakes to a rush of baby-seeking hormones? Blame the chemical attraction for allowing my heart and head to overrule my brain, constructing a world all of my own where I believed our love was real? Because anything that felt as good as being with Flynn had to be genuine. Enduring. So what if we annoyed the shit out of each other? It might’ve been impractical and a pain in the arse, but love overcomes all things, doesn’t it? Until you’re looking down at a phone, your arm banding your waist because you feel like you’re coming apart.
‘I shouldn’t have gotten involved,’ I mutter vehemently. ‘Then I wouldn’t be feeling like this—looking like this.’ I jump up from the couch, clutching my grimy T-shirt as though to prove my point.
Twenty-four hours and I’m still stuck in yesterday. I want to call him. And I don’t. But either way, my mind has gone there plenty. I’ve had silent conversations where I’ve ripped him a new arsehole, then moments when I’ve begged him to just hold me in his arms. I’ve planned whole new lives for myself and our phantom child, picturing his regret as I tell himI don’t need no man.
I wonder if he’ll get in contact over the next few weeks to see if I’m actually pregnant. I’m not. I did the numbers and to cap it all, this morning I got my period.Yay for hormones.But still I wonder. Would he have proven to care? Been compassionate or combative?
‘You do look like shit.’
‘Thanks, Paisley.’ I blow out a long breath, my rage over once more for the moment. ‘That really helps.’ Like a hole in the head, actually.
‘Friends are supposed to tell you the truth.’
‘Am I wrong?’ I repeat; is that what she’s saying? ‘Tell me, because if you’ve got any advice on helping menotfeel like this, spit it out.’
‘Actually, I have,’ she says, sliding her phone out of her purse. ‘Go and shower, tie up your hair, and put on a little mascara, for God’s sake. We’re going out.’
~*~
‘This wasn’t the kind of solution I was expecting.’
‘Oh, honey, this isn’t a solution,’ Paisley chuckles. ‘This is more like a Band Aid.’
‘One that’ll hurt like a mofo tomorrow morning as you peel your head from the pillow, wishing you could rip it off.’ Hills and Paisley clink their glasses, rowdy shouts of,You tell it, sister!coming from the table behind. I’m not sure if theses words are for Hillary or for the heavyset drag queen belting outRespect,Aretha Franklin style. Thesisterson this particular table are fierce in heavy makeup, big-hair, with one or two sporting full beards.
The place is loud, the décor gaudy, and the tunes being belted on the stage for open mic night a little too much for my mood. But otherwise, I’m glad Paisley forced me out of the house. Even if I initially put up a fight.
We’re atStella LaFella’s,Hillary’s new favourite hangout given that Avery, the new person in his life, works behind the bar several nights a week.
‘I’m so fucking stupid.’ My headthunkson the table. It’s safe to say, buzzed was two drinks ago.
‘I used to be fucking stupid,’ says Paisley, her tone a touch trivial. ‘But then we broke up, thankfully.’
‘Oh, God,’ I groan, sitting straight again. ‘I need less comedy act and more reassurance that I’ve done the right thing.’
‘Your ex is that famous singer—the ginger one, right?’ ask Hills, clearly ignoring my cry for reassurance. I think they might be a little tired of this question tonight.
‘One and the same.’ Paisley raises her glass as though toasting the waste of space. ‘Good bye to bad men!’
‘Was Flynn bad?’ At my plaintive tone, the pair fall quiet before Paisley turns her slightly hazy gaze to mine.
‘Only you can be the judge of that.’
