Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
‘Let’s get rid of that.’
I feel my dress being peeled from my body. I’m half asleep, I know I’m still slightly drunk and my eyes are semi stuck together with mascara. ‘Are you going to cut it to pieces?’ I mumble irritably.
‘No,’ he says calmly, his strong, familiar arms wrapping around me and lifting me from the bed. ‘I might not be talking to you, lady,’ he whispers, ‘but I want to be not talking to you in our bed.’ My arms automatically reach up and around him to hold on, and my face buries in his neck. I might be a little drunk and massively pissed off, but I recognise my favourite place. He lowers me to bed and a few moments later, he’s laying the full length of my back and pulling me into his chest.
‘Ava?’ he whispers in my ear.
‘What?’
‘You make me crazy, lady.’
‘Crazy in love?’ I mumble sleepily.
I feel him squeeze me closer. ‘That too.’
* * *
‘I love you.’
What is that? I splutter and rip my mascara clogged eyes open.
‘Drink.’ he commands softly.
I groan and roll over into my pillow. ‘Leave me alone.’ I whine, hearing him chuckle. My head is banging. I’ve not even lifted it off the pillow and it already feels like Black Sabbath are having their practice session in my skull.
‘Hey, come here.’ He curls his forearm around my waist, and then drags me across the bed, onto his lap. I feel his palm smooth my hair and pull it from my face, and I peek through my eyes to see a glass of fizzing water being held to my lips. ‘Drink.’ he presses. I let him tip the glass to my mouth, and I sip the welcome cool, fizzing liquid. ‘All of it.’
I finish the whole glass and then collapse against his bare chest. I’m truly rubbish at hangovers.
‘How bad is it?’ he asks. I know he’s grinning.
‘Bad.’ I croak. My eyes are heavy, and I’m far too comfortable to open my mind to the events that have united me and this stonking hangover—united me with this maddening man.
I feel him shift on the bed and then lean back, taking me with him. Well, at least he’s talking to me enough to look after me in my pitiful state. What sort of person punishes the alcoholic love of her life by going out and getting drunk? And when she’s pregnant, not that he’s aware. What sort of person torments her crazily possessive husband by shoving her tongue down another man’s throat in front of him? The same sort of person who hides the love of his life’s pills to try and get her pregnant on the sly, that’s who. We’re made for each other.
‘I’m sorry-ish.’ I say quietly.
He kisses my hair. ‘Me too.’ He’s brave. I must look and smell shocking. Hangover aroma can’t be the most pleasant wake up call, especially for a recovering alcoholic.
I lay in a sorry heap across him, drifting in and out of sleep and in and out of thought.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asks quietly, almost apprehensively.
‘I’m thinking we can’t go on like this.’ I answer honestly. ‘It’s not good for you.’ I leave out the fact that it’s not good for me either.
He sighs. ‘I don’t care about me.’
‘What are we going to do?’ I press.
He’s silent for a few moments, and then he shifts me onto my back and nudges my thighs apart to cradle himself between them. He takes a deep breath and drops his forehead to my chest. ‘I don’t know, but I do know how much I love you.’
I sag and look up at the ceiling. I know that as well but the saying love conquers all is being tested to its limit here. He plays the love card every time, like it’s an acceptable excuse for his neurotic ways.
‘Why did you do it?’ I ask. I don’t have to elaborate further. He knows what I’m referring to.
He looks up at me, his frown line crawling across his forehead. ‘Because I love you.’ he says defensively. ‘Everything is because I love you.’
‘You treat me like trash, fuck me in the toilet of a bar, with no words, and then walk out to go and feel up another woman? Did you do that because you love me?’
‘I was trying to prove a point.’ he argues quietly. ‘And watch your mouth.’
‘No, Jesse. You were trying to be a wanker.’ I shift slightly under him, and he looks up at me anxiously. ‘I need a shower.’
He searches my eyes but eventually rolls off to let me up. I drag myself from the bed and into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before brushing my teeth and getting in the shower. I feel completely deflated and just want to crawl back into bed and forget about everything, but my racing mind is venturing into frightening territory, making my head ache further. I’ve not seen him for four days. I’m trying my hardest not to venture there, but I really can’t help it, especially in light of his last disappearing act.