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“Yes, if that’s how you want to play it. I just want a date first. That’s all. A chance.”
She blinks and softens her stance, her body finally moulding rather than trying to tug away. “Just a date,” she says quietly, as she looks up at me. “Nothing more until I’m ready?”
I nod. Just a date. More after that if I can get them.
And then the future if possible.
We’ll start from death and move forwards, hopefully finding our journey without limitations on the way.
Chapter 22
Hannah
Two weeks later.
There’s nothing left in this apartment now. It’s empty other than the few bags Jackson’s carrying out of it and the neutrality that it was when I first walked in. I stare blankly at it, half smiling at the red wine still splashed all over the curtains, and do my long coat up.
Maybe I’ll come back and deal with that, maybe I won’t. It’s not like Gray hasn’t got people to do that sort of thing, and, while I should sort it out, the new part of me feels like leaving it there for the next woman who might be moving in. She’ll see the anger in it, perhaps questioning who she’s with while she does.
I chuckle and follow the stains of red on the floor, amused at my first steps into widowhood. It seems so long ago now, but it’s not. Such a short amount of time for everything to change. I’m stronger now. More resilient. Less of an idiot than I ever was and more of a fighter than I’ve ever been. I know me. I know what Hannah wants. What she needs. And what she needs is her own space around her. Hers. Not Gray’s.
He didn’t take that well.
Tough.
I don’t belong to anyone.
Looking up at the ceiling before I leave, I smile weakly and then follow Jackson down to the elevator. There’s nothing else to do now but get to my new apartment, settle in, and then continue being the new me I am. I’ve already contacted the relevant bodies in teaching,worked out what I need to do to get back into my career. A year or so catching up on my degree and I’ll be set. I’m not living off a man again ever. Not that I need to because of Rick's insurance, but that’s not the point. I’m not waiting under them. Not letting them control me. Not cooking and cleaning for them. And I’m definitely not giving them the ability to take everything away from me in a heartbeat if they choose to.
Hannah makes her rules now.
And Hannah does as she chooses.
The width of the park travelled and a few corners and I watch Jackson take the suitcases up to another elevator. He huffs as he gets in, as if being my bag carrier is beneath him. I chuckle and follow, smiling brightly at his clear irritation. Poor thing. He’s probably been taking the sharp end of Gray’s tongue over the last few days. It isn’t pleasant, no matter how attractive he is in the middle of temper tantrums. Blunt is his forte after all, but if he expected me to move in, be the little wife and behave accordingly, he’s been sniffing the wrong tree entirely.
The door opens and I skip into the room, spinning in the space around me. Mine. All mine. No husband. No worries. No problems, other than the constant nagging feeling that I should continuously pray for forgiveness.
I come to an abrupt halt, the vision of a tubeless Heather still circulating my mind.
Not my fault.
Not my fault.
Not my fault.
It’s the only way I’ve managed to contend with thought of it all. It’s replaced my taps for the time being, dulled them at least. I chant it every time she appears in my head, or every time Charlie appears there instead. Not my fault. It might be in reality, at least somehow, but there’s nothing I can do now, no matter how much I wish I could. She’s gone, and maybe that was the best thing for her. Perhaps heaven is better than a bed in a room with no ability to live. I don’t know. How do you calculate the death of someone, someone who cheated and lied with someone else’s life? Caused pain and heartache because of their deceit? That’s what she did to Gray and Charlie. She played with them. Toyed with their actuality and made it a game for her own version of life.
And it’s just like what Rick did to me. Premeditated. Considered. Planned.
So much pain.
Both of us.
I stare out the window, looking over to the other side of the park and smile. It is what it is now, and either way, right or wrong or indeterminable, this is where I am and what has happened to get me here is, while distressing and slightly mind-altering, also clarifying. I am stronger. A new me. A me who will rise from where she was and choose her own life and decisions without the need for reliance or support.
The sudden vision of an enormous bouquet of flowers placed on the lounge table makes me startle out of my thoughtful gaze. That wasn’t there two hours ago. I frown and walk over to it, picking out the handwritten card.
Welcome home. Come over for dinner so I can play.
