AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Freya…
I couldn’t do it though. I couldn’t get my fingers to write her a text. I settled for saving a contact with her name and number, but then continued to stare at it while I drained my beer.
There was so much to answer for with her. So much that I would need to explain, including my own feelings.
But I had to do it. I had to. Even if it tore my fucking heart out. She deserved to know what the fuck happened, and I needed to end this. My tattoo was done, so it was now or never. Talking to her, even though I knew I couldn’t have her, would be agony. Sweet, delicious agony.
Chapter 24
Freya
The tacos sat heavy in my stomach as I got into my car. Talk of Ashton always did that to me.
The drive home was nothing but a long series of would’ve, should’ve, and could’ve, and each regret picked away at me until my head was a fucking mess. Luckily I wasn't seeing the girls until Friday, so I had some time to get myself back in order.
After getting home to my little apartment, the first thing I did was kick off my high heels and pop a bottle of wine, filling a glass irresponsibly full. I watched the rim with anxiety as I made my way to the couch. On went the TV so I could catch up on all the dumb reality shows that Sara liked to talk about when we got together for ladies night at our favorite bar.
My phone buzzed again in my purse across the room, and I whined, not wanting to get up, but I couldn’t very well not see who it was. What if Heather had gotten herself sloppy drunk again?
Taking a long sip of my wine, just enough to make it not so dangerously close to the rim, I set the glass down on my side table before standing on my sore feet.
Damn it, it better not be Heather getting drunk on a weeknight again. I was getting too old for the partying stuff.
My purse was waiting by the door where I’d dropped it when I’d come in, so I dug through it as it buzzed again.
It said four unread texts.
Opening the app, I saw that one was from that guy King who knew about Ashton. I'd memorized his number long enough to copy it from Dad's phone in hopes that I could wear him down. Evidently he’d written me back.
King: Not changing my mind.
Fuck him.
Blowing out a long breath, I went back to the couch because I needed some more wine in me before dealing with that prick.
Another long sip later, I looked at the other texts, all from an unknown number.
Unknown: I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us.
Unknown: And that I left without saying goodbye.
Unknown: Fuck, this is Ashton BTW.
My heart stuttered in my chest as I stared at those messages, threatening to give out altogether.
Ashton had my number?
What the hell?
I stared at my phone for the entirety of finishing off my wine glass. Even when I was done, I still didn’t know what to say, or if I even should say anything back.
Eventually, I couldn’t help my fingers as they formed words on the screen, cruel and angry and frustrated and still in fucking love with the guy.
Me: So now you find my number? How nice. If only you’d have found it two years ago when you used me and dropped me like a freaking disease.
My heartrate was picking up, but I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or anxiety that maybe he wouldn’t write me back. Especially after that little attack. So, out of desperation, I sent one more.
Me: I knew who it was immediately. How did you get my number, anyway? Or have you had it this whole time?
