Page 82 of It Destroys Me

Confirm…or take my life.

I woke up in the middle of the night for no reason at all. Maybe it was a bad dream that disappeared so quickly I couldn’t recall it. Or maybe my body was just on alert, even when I was dead asleep.

I left the bedroom and headed downstairs. We had a large terrace out there, a firepit surrounded by couches, underneath the tall trees that were sprinkled across the property. Bolton still had his security with him, even though he’d retired from his career.

I turned on the gas and started the fire before I opened a bottle of wine. Instead of drinking out of a glass like a lady, I drank straight from the bottle, because fuck it, who gave a shit at this point?

I sat in front of the fire and drank alone…and cried.

Cried because Theo had replaced me so quickly. Chose to move on rather than mourn what we had. He’d left me to my fate and got back to his reality like there’d never been a disturbance. From an outside point of view, it would be easy to believe that my life hadn’t changed at all, that I’d never met Theo, that our lives had never crossed.

A part of me wished I never had. I’d worshipped that man the moment he was mine, gave him my heart even though he never gave me his. And now, he was with someone else, forgetting about me with every thrust between her legs.

It was awkward to drink and cry at the same time, but I made it work.

Then I heard the sound of the door behind me. It was quiet, almost unnoticeable, but it was distinctive in the silence.

My back was to him, so I had the opportunity to suck in a deep breath and steady my tears, soothe my lungs, and quiet my heart. I quickly wiped away the tears with my forearms and prayed that the darkness would hide the evidence.

He came out in just his sweatpants and slippers. The fire cast shadows over the lines between his muscles. He was much leaner than Theo but had always been ripped like a soccer player. He was a handsome man in his own right, and before I’d met Theo, I’d thought he was the best-looking man I’d ever seen.

But things changed.

He sat in the center of the other couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He stared at the fire for a while.

I could tell something was amiss. He would have sat beside me if everything was okay between us. He would look at me. Talk to me. But he continued to stare at the fire like I wasn’t even there.

I drank from the bottle to swallow the tears.

“You still love him.” He spoke with resignation, with defeat.

“Love doesn’t just die, Bolton. I wouldn’t be here right now if that were the case.” I made that up on the spot, the booze giving me more courage than I would have had otherwise. “You should have seen how many times I cried over you, when I slept alone and wondered if you slept alone too.”

“But you said you would try.” He finally looked at me head on.

“I am trying, Bolton. When a building falls in an earthquake, it takes time to rebuild?—”

“Or you were just bullshitting me. And now that you know he’s fucking around, you wish I’d just shot him.”

The adrenaline was like a haze over my eyes. I felt like I was running even when I was stuck in place. The panic was beneath my skin, but the paleness was probably visible in my cheeks. The blush from the wine wouldn’t be strong enough to hide it. “I wasn’t bullshitting you?—”

“Really?” He raised his voice, looking at me like an enemy for the first time since we’d come here. “Because I’m upstairs sleeping alone with a dry dick, while you’re down here crying over another guy.”

I knew we’d crossed the line I’d tried so hard not to cross. I’d pressed an invisible button, and his rage was provoked. Whenever Bolton got to this level, it was hard for him to come down again. When an ice cube melted, it couldn’t just be put back together like it’d never melted in the first place. “As I said before, love doesn’t just?—”

“He doesn’t love you!” Now Bolton was on his feet, rising above the flames like the devil. “He’s balls deep in pussy every night, while I’m here working my ass off for a morsel of your attention.” He stepped toward me.

I left the wine bottle on the couch, its contents spilling onto the cushion, and I backed up.

“I love you. I fucking love you. And you’re backing away from me like I’m some kind of monster.”

Because that’s exactly what you are. “I’m backing away because I’m scared?—”

“We’re going to go upstairs, and we’re going to fuck. It’s been weeks, and I’ve barely gotten a kiss from you?—”

“I said I’m not ready?—”

“But if lover boy walked in here, you would be.” He grabbed the end table and threw it across the terrace. It hit one of the umbrellas and made a loud ding as it struck metal. “So let’s go.” He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me toward the door. “Time to get back on the horse?—”