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“What drives him mad,” Abbie chimes in. I shrug my shoulders. “You know was there a point when he lost control?”
“He likes dirty talk,” I whisper, a little embarrassed. Both their eyes light up.
“What? What did you say?”
“I’m not going there,” I giggle. “But I dropped the C Bomb.”
“You’re kidding,” Bridget laughs. “You hate that word.”
“I know,” I rub my eyes as I remember how he loved it. “It amped him right up actually, he totally lost control. He took me to the dark side…and I need to get on a fast train back.” “Well use your head Tash, if he loses it over dirty talk.” Abbie’s phone texts a message which she reads.
“You are kidding,” she snaps, “I’ve had enough.”
“What’s wrong?”
“James hooked up with that tunnel cunt and now he’s asking me not to come home tonight so he can make lots of noise. He can forget it.”
“Why do you hate this girl again?”
“Because she’s after his money.”
“How do you know that?”
“The brother of a girl at work hooked up with her a couple of years ago and apparently she gave him six months of terror after the event. She used to be a stripper in an upper–class strip club. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s a high–end hooker or something now, and I just don’t trust her.”
“What does she look like again?” Bridget asks.
“Caramel blonde, beautiful. A killer body, but I’m telling you the girl is evil. If she hurts him I’m going to disembowel the bitch with a hairbrush.”
We all laugh. I knew if I spent a couple of hours with my friends I could forget about the dread that is creeping over me—the sick ball in my stomach that is telling me I’m just another notch on his bed post, one that he went back to simply for old time’s sake.
Wednesday, 12.00 am—I lie in bed on my back while the hot tears run into my ears. I have been lying here since 10.00 pm and still I can’t sleep. I haven’t eaten all day, and I have a thumping headache. My mind is constantly assessing the situation. Is he in someone else’s arms now? Does he have someone in his bed? Maybe he was already seeing someone when he promised me he wouldn’t be with anyone else. Of course, he’s with someone else, who am I kidding? My chest is physically hurting.
Thursday 9.00 pm—I am heartbroken after crying on and off for most of the day yesterday. Reality, the bitch, has hit me hard. He’s not going to call. He obviously doesn’t feel the same. I totally imagined the chemistry we shared, no actually I felt it. It was just him that felt nothing. I sit on the lounge in my gym gear after devouring a family block of chocolate. Honestly, why bother going to the gym? What’s the goddamn point? I feel sick to my stomach and it has nothing to do with the sugar coma I’m just about to slip into. I shower, put on my robe and pour myself a glass of wine. I head out to my balcony and sit on my day bed while I watch the city lights below me twinkle and listen to the hustle–and–bustle noises, a towel wrapped around my head. What should I do? I know the answer but how in the hell do I forget him? I wish last weekend never happened. It has just brought painful feelings to the surface again, ones that I’m not coping with.
I thought I was stronger than this. My life is a mess.
An hour later I go and retrieve my phone and glasses to check my emails and return to my spot on the balcony. I stare at my phone for a good thirty minutes. Should I ring him? I know I shouldn’t, but what do I do? Am I really going to put myself through this? I would rather he reject me than this waiting around crap, it’s killing me. I want to hear him say the words. I need to hear him tell me he doesn’t want me. My eyes fill with tears as I even contemplate hearing those painful words. Only then can I move on. Only then will I be able to start to heal. I can’t go on like this…I text:
Why don’t you ring me?
I suddenly start to freak out, what am I doing? My phone immediately beeps a text:
You know why.
I text back:
Don’t you want to hear my voice?
I instantly regret sounding so needy, but I need answers. My phone beeps again:
More than anything!!!
I sit up. What! He wants to hear my voice more than anything…With exclamation marks. For the first time in four days I find myself smiling at my phone. I text back:
I need another night baby. I can’t do this.
Shit, have I gone too far? That’s definitely needy. I screw my face up. Oh shit who cares, I am frigging needy. My phone beeps again:
