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Ever since that day, he has been aloof and detached.
I understand his pain. I really do. I share it. Aisla was like a sister to me.
The agony that I’m feeling can’t be described, and his distance makes it worse.
So I texted him to let him know I was on my way to his place. He still hasn’t replied yet. But I need him to tell me everything will be okay. That we will grieve together.
I stand at the door, pressing the doorbell again and again, but there’s no sound except for the rustling of leaves in the wind. When I try the knob, it turns easily, and the door swings open.
“Aidan,” I call, my voice breaking the eerie silence.
No answer. That’s weird. He never leaves his door open for anyone to come inside. Something is not right.
“Aidan.” Walking towards the bedroom, I raise my voice, hoping for a response. “Are you here?”
That’s when I hear it. Moans. His moans.
No. That can’t be happening.
The sound of the moans growing louder makes me crack the door open.
I’m frozen in place, unable to take my eyes off what lay before me.
“What the fuck?” My throat burns as I let out a guttural yell, tears streaming down my face.
He looks at me completely unbothered, his green eyes almost black, a bottle of whisky in his hand, and a bimbo on her knees in front of him.
This can’t be happening.
“What are you doing here?” He seems more annoyed by my presence than the slut on her knees with his trousers open.
“WHAT AM I DOING HERE? Are you for fucking real?” My tears fall like acid on my skin as my heart shatters into a thousand pieces, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.
“You should leave. Now. I’m quite busy, as you can tell.” He takes another sip of the bottle.
Through my sobs, I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper, “What’s happening to you?”
“Nothing is happening to me. This is the real me. Your arse was fine for the time being, but I found a mouth more interesting,” he says, grabbing the blonde’s hair. “We’re done. You should leave now.”
I can’t breathe. It’s just a bad dream. It has to be.
I’m sprinting away from his place, my whole body trembling.
I’m going to be sick.
The nausea is unbearable, and I fall to my knees near the bushes, retching and vomiting until sweat mixes with my tears.
I need to leave. I need to get as far away from here as I can.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake off this bad memory, and ask, “What about Aidan?”
He sighs as I envision him rubbing his face anxiously. “He’s in prison.”
“What did he do this time?” I’m trying to keep my composure, but the anger I’ve harboured for years is starting to show. “Murder? Drugs? Weaponry?”
“No, this was a setup. These fucking Snakes tried to make him take the blame for their shit.” I can hear the fatigue in his voice.
“The fact that he is currently in prison leads me to believe that they did not make an attempt.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “And then, what are you implying when you say ‘their shit’?”
