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A text bounces back.
Leave me alone.
Thank God. I text back.
Where are you?
A reply comes back.
I’m staying at my place tonight.
No, baby…
Nathan, I’m sorry.
I should have talked to you.
Please come home.
A reply bounces back.
Tomorrow.
I frown as uneasiness fills me. I reply:
I need to talk tonight.
With my heart in my throat I wait.
I can’t.
He can’t. What the fuck does that mean? I dial his number and it rings out again. My heart hammers in my chest, and the tears of regret roll down my cheeks as I wait for the answering machine.
“Nathan, I love you.” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m just so scared.” I pace as I think of what to say. “I’m going out of my mind with insecurity and I don’t want to,” I whisper as I walk to the window. I pull back the drapes and look out over the view. “It’s just new and this is a transition stage, that’s all.” I offer an explanation. “This is weird for me, Nathe. Meeting men at conferences who put these ideas into my head is fucking weird, okay? Call me… please.”
I feel so guilty that he had to hear that from Jolie.
I am fucking furious with her. How could she?
I hang up and drop to the couch. I screw up my face and I call April. Then, I cry.
* * *
It’s early morning and still dark when I hear the key in the door. I sit up.
He’s here. He’s come home to talk about it.
I’m exhausted. I think I slept for an hour, tops.
He marches into the bedroom in his suit. He’s ready for work already. He flicks the bathroom light on. I hear the drawers open and slam shut.
“Nathan!” I call. “What are you doing?”
I hear something fall on the floor.
“Come and talk to me,” I call. What the hell is he doing in there?
Bottles fall over, and something bangs hard as he tears through the bathroom cupboards like a mad man. “Where is it?” he calls.
