I’m a little saner from the harsh jets of hot water drilling into my skull, distracting me from my own
reality, and stand that way until my legs go numb, like a mindless drone on autopilot.
I dress in fresh clothes and brush out my hair before moving to unpack my things into the empty
wardrobe.
The doorbell ringing snaps my focus around, and I hesitate, stomach lurching in panic. Sarah won’t be
back for a few days and I’m not expecting anyone I can think of. Experiencing a moment of fear as my
gut tells me it might be him, that maybe he doesn’t want to give me space to think, but I can’t see him
so soon. My insides go weak, turning to liquid mush, my legs become rubber, and hands start
sweating. I’m close to fainting when sense steps in.
Wait!
My brain snaps into focus, telling me it’ll be Mathews with my belongings! I asked him to bring them to
me sooner rather than later, wanting the pain of the task out of the way quickly. I feel ridiculous and try
to regain some stability in my legs.
Get a grip, Emma. Breathe … Count … Breathe.
I stumble to the door through the open-plan lounge opening it hesitantly without checking the spy hole;
willing myself to find courage and poise to hide the internal disaster that I am.
I’m right and Mathews stands with another man dressed in matching black, holding cases, a serious
expression on his face. I know he’s taking me in, trying to ascertain how I am without asking. It’s what
he does, appraises people instantly, analyzing me at a glance.
“Miss. Anderson, shall I have everything brought in?” His deep gravelly voice is comforting. I smile
emptily, moving out of the way gesturing they should, finding PA Emma, pushing her out in front to take
control of my lifeless body for a while.
It doesn’t take long them to bring the cases and boxes in; each time my head and heart hurting a little
more. I didn’t realize how much I accumulated moving in with Jake; ever generous, always flourishing
me with clothes via Donna or little surprise things among my jewelry or shoes; even down to books I
read. Always finding a new one beside my bed when I was nearing the end of the one I had. He never
ceased to anticipate my needs knowing exactly what I’d like. He never made a big thing of it though; no
large dancing gesture, presenting me with gifts he knew I’d feel embarrassed about accepting … so
he’d slot them in with my things to find while alone. I never refused anything that way, always warmed
by the thoughtful touches he left for me.
God, I miss him so much. He always knew what I needed.
When the men are done, Mathews turns to me at the door, ushering his man out, and gives me a
paternal, warm, sympathetic smile.
“Miss. Anderson, Mr. Carrero asked me to give you this.” His steady gaze taking in the flicker of
emotions across my face as he holds out the long slender cream envelope with my name on the front
with the achingly bold and beautiful handwritten script of Jake’s on the front. My heart pangs and
contracts at the sight of it. I instantly bite on my lip to quell the tears, the heavy swallowing to calm my
emotions doesn’t go unnoticed. He gives me a sympathetic look, sliding the envelope into my palm with
a brief pat on my shoulder and a nod.
“He loves you, ma’am, men are idiots when it comes to love and relationships. We all make mistakes.
Just don’t dismiss all you have without really thinking things through. You are his universe, Miss.
Anderson.”
Interesting observation from a man who sees so much and yet is only a mere brief presence in our
lives.
He smiles at me gently and I nod too, ignoring that tug in my throat which aches so badly. Tears pool in
the back of my eyes, my throat throbbing.
“Please tell Jake I need time alone. I’m grateful for my things, Mr. Mathews and thank you, really.” I
smile emptily. He understands that I’m dismissing him before I fall apart, because even hearing Jake’s
name brings an unbearable agony that cuts through my core. He nods and says a small farewell before
leaving, pulling the door closed behind him.
I’m stood stiff and numb, staring at the handle of the door for a few moments, lost in an empty
daydream, before my head snaps me into focus and I stare down at the letter in my hand. I’m grasping
it so tightly I’ve put a wrinkle across its smooth surface.
I walk to the couch and sit down, holding the letter in front of me as though it’s some foreign object I
don’t recognize, and I don’t know what to do with. I sit for the longest time and just stare, my heart
beating through my chest, my breathing labored. His neat beautiful writing scraping at what’s left of my
strength, knowing whatever is inside has the power to fuel another onslaught of tears and sobs and
crushing pain that I’m just not ready for. I get up, walk to my room, and slide it in front of the mirror on
my vanity instead. I need time, time to get myself together, before I read it.
Jake kissed someone else, Marissa, of all people! Will I ever be ready to face that?
To some the act is excusable, maybe even understandable, considering everything that went on
leading up to it. I can’t change how irreversibly it has hurt me. It’s about trust, betrayal, and security. He
did something as painful as full-on sex. He touched her and gave her something that should only
belong to me from the second he gave me his heart, regardless to what pain he was feeling. He gave
his touch to someone he knew would crush me. The woman he will be tied to for an eternity because of
her unborn child. I know drunk Jake can be irrational and impulsive, fueled by rage, but there’s still a
part of me that shakes its head sadly.
If he loved me then he wouldn’t have been able to throw me aside so carelessly and cruelly turning to
that woman and doing something so vindictive.
Maybe this is what I deserve in life. Maybe this is my retribution because of the insecure afraid of
emotion weird mess that I am who pushed him away for so long, even though I’ve no doubt that Jake
loves me. I’ve seen it so many times in the ways he’s changed his life for me. I’ve no doubt that he
regrets what he’s done. I would be blind not to see it written all over him, but it’s not any of that which
holds me here.
It’s knowing I may never be able to trust him again; letting my insecurities expand beyond control,
knowing I’ll always be second guessing him anytime he leaves me alone. Always doubting if he has
unresolved feelings for Marissa. It’s a black mark in our almost perfect union, a hideous ugly scar,
forever there between us. He showed me that all men, even the ones who love you, can still crush you
so easily.
I know I have blame in this too, maybe that’s why I can’t hate him, maybe it’s why even as I’m dying
inside, all I want is him. The source of my pain is my only cure and as much as I hate what he’s done,
as much anger and hurt there is inside of me, I can’t stop pining for him. It makes me more messed-up
in the head and unable to get my thoughts straight.
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