Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
My husband, mi esposo, who is soft only for me, is also romantic as hell, and looking back at our time together before, it’s a shock I didn’t become pregnant by his words alone.
I look around the space, realizing I’m alone in the room, and crawl over to my side of the bed. I must have rolled around once Johnny left the bed. I wouldn’t know since I’m such a deep sleeper and last night was the first time in years I slept without worrying over every last nuance of life. It’s then I spot the sheet of paper on the nightstand. He could have sent a text to my phone and gone about his day. Instead, he left me a letter, much like he did back before shit went to hell in a hand basket. I pick up the piece of paper to read the note with Johnny’s harsh slants of letters, heavy and masculine, exactly like him.
Cariño,
Went out for a bit. Coffee is ready, breakfast is on the counter. Mom and Dad are bringing Sebastian home around lunch. Call me if you need me.
Love,
Johnny
A sigh escapes me as I crush the letter to my chest, closing my eyes and cherishing another moment he’s given me. It also spurs me into action. I look around the room for another one of his touches, this one in the form of his discarded shirt. Whether it’s a plain cotton shirt or one of his button-ups, I need his comfort and scent to surround me.
“There it is.” Across the room, nestled in the corner, on the oversized chair, is one of Johnny’s shirts. I slide out of the bed, traipse through the bedroom naked without worrying about a little boy sneaking in and asking for a snack. I’m his snack bitch, and I wear that badge proudly. I’m unsure of how long this shirt has been resting there, but I bring it to my nose, take a deep inhale, and soak in Johnny’s scent—spice with a hint of oak. I’ve got one more thing to do before I take care of the myself in the bathroom. I slip one arm in, then the other, and thread the buttons through the loops, not worrying about if they’re even with the other. When I left, I didn’t take very much. We had to leave quickly because a bed had opened up for Melanie, which meant getting my clothes and leaving, minus the one framed photo of us on our wedding day and having no idea things would get so much worse.
That I’d become angry with Johnny, that I’d mourn the thought of us never being together again, and yes, I’m well aware now that all of those emotions were normal and definitely misplaced. While I’d like to blame the fault solely on Melanie, addiction is a disease that grabs ahold of you and never lets go. Some people can work through it with counseling, different medicines, meetings, and rehabilitation, but for others, nothing works until they’re finally laid to rest.
I make my way back toward the bed, specifically on my side, where I should find what I’m looking for in the nightstand. I drop to my knees, and when I pull on the handle to the bottom drawer, I have to place a hand over my mouth. There they are, stacked nicely and neatly. The notes Johnny has left me. I should have known, and I’d bet the last dollar to my name that he has kept all the ones I’ve written him, too. The need to cry bubbles to the surface, yet the thought of allowing myself to do such a thing is not happening. I’ve done a lot of blubbering lately, and I’m over it. I place a kiss on the tips of my fingers before transferring it to the notes, then take one last glance before I close the drawer, making a mental note to ask Johnny about his before I go snooping.
A few minutes later, I’ve done my business in the bathroom, washed my hands, and am looking at myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes have lessened, my eyes appear brighter, and I most assuredly have sex hair. I also look like I’m at peace for the first time in years. I’m back, well, mostly. We still have the hurdle in Georgia to deal with, plus I need a job down here and to right a few more wrongs, but for the most part, I’m where I was always meant to be.
“Please don’t take Sebastian from me.” I cross my fingers, look up at the ceiling, and pray to whatever higher being there may be. My stomach growling makes me move out the bathroom through the bedroom, and that’s when I hear it: the low music reverberating through the house. Another piece of Johnny, he always has classic rock of some sort playing when he’s home. Today, it’s a heavy riff of the guitar, the beating of drums, and soft lyrics of Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog. I make my way through the living room, bypassing the kitchen, where I see Johnny has the coffee pot on and ready to go. How he doesn’t run on any kind of caffeine still floors me. The man only needs a solid four to five hours of sleep, wakes up, hits the gym, does office work here, and after dinner with me, he’d head to the club. At least that’s how things used to be, and judging by the way he went about things this morning, not much has changed. There’s even a plate of my favorite breakfast item: croissants.