He doesn’t even fucking touch me. He won’t look at me long enough to even think about sex.
It was ludicrous and almost disgusting with the way he threw me under the fucking bus for somethinghefought me over and didn’t want.
But because he’s their golden child, it’s okay for him to lie through his teeth so his bitchy, lazy, and inconsistent wife takes the blame.
I heard the witch speak from the dining room. “Is she all right? Was it something I said?”
I had half a mind to storm back in and hurl the plate I was scrubbing right into her fucking face.
“Was it something I said?”
You did a lot more than just speak.
After I forced myself to finish the dishes, I grabbed my laptop, planner, and phone, my hands moving on autopilot as my pulse roared in my ears.
I walked past them without a word.
Gavin stood abruptly, following behind me in haste.
“Rose... please, let’s just finish the night—”
I shot him a glare, so sharp his pleas died.
I ascended the stairs, drowning out his mother’s bitchy words about how I should’ve cleaned off the whole table and continued the conversation.
I walked into the bedroom, slammed the door shut behind me, and let out a shaky breath.
Too much.
It was all too fucking much.
I felt overwhelmed, sweaty, exhausted. Tired from cooking at the stove for an hour only to feel under fire for the rest of the night.
Tearing off my clothes, I stepped into the shower.
The moment the hot water hit my skin, the sobs finally escaped.
My tears mixed in with the water as I let it flow through my hair. I just wanted a minute to calm down… to compose myself.To think.
It’s bad enough that I have to deal with Gavin and his nature, but the addition of his condescending mother and judgmental father, not to mention Beckham’s overwhelming presence in my mind,it was all going to drive me crazy.
I braced my hands against the cold tile, my forehead pressing against the wall as the water pounded down on me.Breathe. Just breathe.
My chest was too tight, my throat burned, and I hated that I was crying over them.Over him.
But no matter how hot the water was, it didn’t wash away the humiliation. Or the anger. Or the crushing, fucking loneliness.
He told themIrefused. LikeIwas some selfish wife, likeIwas deprivinghim, likeIhadn’t spent years making sureIwas enough forhim.
Stepping out of the shower, I threw on a pair of grey sweats with a gray shirt and my cardigan while my wet hair dripped onto my shoulders. My eyes were almost bloodshot red, swollen, the weight of the lids growing heavier by the second.
As I finished putting on my eucalyptus stress relief lotion in the hopes that it would work to calm and soothe me, Gavin walked into the bedroom.
“They just left. Mom was absolutely livid.” He said it like an observation, like I was supposed to care.
I didn’t look at him, just kept tidying up as he stood there, arms crossed, voice carrying that irate tone he always had when he knew he fucked up but refused to acknowledge it.
He leaned his head back in annoyance before he continued like an idiot. “She wants an apology the next time she comes by.”
