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James sits next to me on our sofa, stunned by my words.
“You’re moving out?” he asks, truly confused by the thought of me leaving.
“Yes, I am,” I state calmly. I don’t want to start fighting or crying. He knows I don’t love him, he must. Everyone, even Agnes at work knows I don’t love him. He can’t be that clueless, he’s a fucking detective for christssake!
“But… I thought…” James is at a complete loss for words.
“I’m sorry, James. Here…” I pull off the diamond engagement ring he gave me and hand it to him, the one I took off so I could be with Adam and mysteriously ended up back on my finger at the hospital. “I can’t remain here like this… us. It doesn’t work.”
“Of course it works El. We’ve been together forever,” he says, pleading his case, his large hand fisted around the ring.
“And
we’ve never actually discussed having a wedding, James. Didn’t that clue you in that something was off?”
“No. I mean, yes. I guess I figured we’d be the couple that stays together forever but never needs the actual wedding to prove it.” His handsome face is truly bewildered, his deep brown eyes genuinely baffled. It kind of makes me angry that he gets to sit there and pretend he didn’t see all of the signs over the years, that I’m the bad guy after he methodically cut off my relationship with every friend I had and made me completely dependent on him.
“That’s not me, James. I want the wedding, the cake and the dance and the happily ever after…”
“You don’t want it with me, that’s what you mean,” he finishes. I watch as his eyes go from hurt to hard in an instant. “It’s that Reynolds bastard, isn’t it? You’re leaving me for him!” he shouts accusingly.
“No James, and what would you even know about it? I haven’t spoken to Adam in years, since the concert, actually.” I leave out the hotel incident, trying my best to keep my voice composed. No need to rub salt in the wounds, even though he used my fear of Callum Murray to keep me with him for years.
His eyes narrow accusingly. “That prick is the reason that Callum Murray attacked you all those times, isn’t it? Murray would never confess to a reason for stalking you, wanting to harm you, and you wouldn’t say anything either. All three of you went to the same school though,” James says, piecing together what he already knew to be true but never really wanted to confront. “I’ve always had a feeling that it had something to do with that bloody pikey singer!”
“He’s not a pikey, James! And neither am I!” I yell, hurt by his classist insult about being from Hackney. “And how dare you mention Callum Murray when he’s the only reason I’ve even been with you all these years!”
I blanch at the look on James’ face. It goes from angry, to hurt, to downright furious.
He slams his large fist down on the coffee table, rattling the mug of tea that’s sitting there, then points at me accusingly. “You were protecting Reynolds, by not telling me everything about Murray.” His hardened stare crumples into one of resignation as the final piece clicks into place for him. “You still love him. That’s what this is about,” he says, his voice getting softer, sounding less harsh and more resigned. “I never had a chance, did I? Even after the attack, when you were in the hospital and I sent that…” he stops abruptly and drops his gaze to his hands, folded around the diamond ring I’ve worn for almost two years.
Tears run freely down my face, my earlier anger spent. “I never meant to hurt you James. I thought, over time… that maybe… I don’t know.” Useless sobs are wrenched from my throat.
“You thought you’d eventually love me enough, right?”
God, for someone living in complete ignorance for the last four plus years, and using every advantage he had to manipulate me, he sure figured everything out right quick at the end. Or maybe he knew all along and was ignoring the truth, just like I was.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper between cries. “Really truly sorry, James.”
“Me too,” he says and we hug, undoubtedly for the last time.
“Finsbury Park. Next stop Seven Sisters.”
The doors to the train open at my stop and I slowly walk home, my earlier buzz from the beers and the girls’ night out now completely gone. Between thinking about Adam and recalling how I broke James’ heart, all I want to do is crash on my bed.
After I moved out of James’ flat, I’ve been living on my own back in Islington, near the stadium and my old place ever since.
I make the three-story climb to my flat and lock the door securely. Unable to find the energy to change my clothes or brush my teeth, I flop down on my bed and grind the heels of my hand into my sore eyes.
Against my will, my heart takes me back to that amazing day with Adam in his hotel room. The day before Callum Murray attacked me and broke my phone, cutting off my only way of being with Adam.
“Sweetheart, come back to bed!” Adam calls out from the bedroom.
I giggle and surprise myself. I don’t giggle. At least I haven’t in a very long time. “Coming! I’m just getting the champagne!” I shout back from the kitchen area of his suite. Adam said he doesn’t drink much anymore, but I figured licking champagne off of his delectable body wouldn’t count since I’d be the one drinking it. I grab the ice bucket, fill it from the in-room icemaker, and throw in the bottle that’s in the wine cooler.
I hear his deep, rumbling laugh and run full speed into the bedroom leaping on the bed, ice flying out of the bucket and all over the covers and Adam’s naked chest.
“Bloody hell! What are you doing?” He gasps, jerking away when the freezing ice cubes land on his hot skin. I fall over on my side, laughing so hard I can hardly catch my breath.
