Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
It’s Connor, holding a bunch of budget garage flowers in his hand.
My grin dies in a heartbeat.
He looks like a sad puppy with his tail between his legs, shoulders hunched in his tatty leather jacket. I take three steps back, slapping a hand over my mouth in shock, because what the hell?!
“Can I come in?” he asks me. “Please, Ells. I need to see you.”
I’m already shaking my head instinctively, looking at him like he’s from another dimension. One I’ve left far, far behind.
“Ella,” he says, looking at me with the expression I used to adore. What I would have referred to as a meaningful loving smirk, with his eyes locked onto mine. It used to drive me wild.
But not now. No fucking way.
It does fuck all for me this time, other than set a swirl of rage off, right in the bottom of my gut.
“No,” I tell him, surprised by the strength in my voice. “You can’t come in. I don’t want to see you, so take your shitty flowers and get stuffed. I’ll go grab your rucksack, and you can get the hell out of here, back to the lovely Carly.”
“Me and Carly are over,” he says.
I don’t so much as flinch in surprise at the news.
“Great. Then go back to the lovely whoever else you’ve got lined up next. I’m sure you have a crowd of them.”
He’s still holding out the flowers, like they’ll suddenly bloom into miracles.
“I don’t want anyone else, Ells. I made a fuck up, ok? The only one I want is you.”
I could laugh in his face, seriously, but I stare mute, surprised that Connor thinks he stands a single chance with me, crawling back after a fuck up that saw him ditching me for another girl.
“It was never about Carly,” he says. “She sold herself to me with bullshit. She said she had contacts and could get me a record deal.”
That only flames me.
“Right, I see. So it wasn’t a I’ve fallen for someone else, I’m sorry with all my heart situation, after all? It was because you thought she could be a bigger cash cow than me?”
He has the audacity to look offended.
“No, of course not. I got confused!”
I want to push him off the doorstep and send him toppling, all the hurt bubbling deep under the surface. Memories of hating myself for not being good enough after everything we’d gone through. Sobbing here alone while he swanned around gigs with his new princess on his arm.
“Well, I’m not confused in the slightest,” I tell him, deadpan. “I want you to fuck off, and I never want to see you again.”
“ELLA! After everything?!”
“Especially after everything.”
All the months and years I spent trying to support him with all I had. Slogging my guts out to provide us with food and a place to live while he coasted around like the next big thing waiting to happen. I could launch into a tirade, but what’s the point? I could tell him how bad he hurt me, but why give him the ammunition?
So, I don’t. I stand there, with my arms folded across my chest, in a slip of a satin gown with nothing underneath.
It used to be one of his favourites.
“I’ll get your rucksack,” I tell him, but I don’t close the door quick enough behind me.
He follows me upstairs through the crap house we shared, bleating on about love, love, love and how we were going to grow old together and how we still can. I believed his bullshit once upon a time, but my ears are immune to him. My strength is resolute.
He stands in the room we used to share as I hold his rucksack up for him.
“Take it and fuck off.”
“That’s the last thing I want, babe.”
“Babe?” I laugh at that. “Life can be a bitch sometimes, can’t she? I’m sure you’ll cope without me.”
He looks at my new bedding, and my stash of new shoes all lined up neatly by my wardrobe. He scouts the room and sees the new makeup on my bedside table, and the beautiful fluffy rug I got for the floor, fuck the threadbare carpet.
“What’s been going on?” he asks. “Did you get a promotion or something?”
“None of your business.”
“If this is about money, I’ve learnt from my mistakes. I’ll get a job around my gigs. I’ll help out.”
I look at the man I gave my life to, with the token bunch of flowers hanging at his side. He’s still super attractive, with his flicked punkish hair, and his beautiful cheekbones, his lips highlighted with a lip ring. But I’ve seen so much better now. I’ve done so much better now.
“I don’t need you to help out,” I say, and toss the rucksack at him, since he isn’t going to take hold of it. “Maybe you should have done it a few years ago, before you left me in the shit with debt up to my ears.” I pause, looking him up and down, and the rage is dying off inside me now. All I feel is pity.