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Actions speak louder,I remind myself.
He can show up at any moment.
Me: Do not come over here. Nothing has changed between us.
Please come over. Please come over. Please come over.
What am I wishing? He needs to stay away.
Riggs: Pet, don't say that. We need to talk. I'm coming over.
I stare at the L.A. skyline. It's dark out now, and everything's blinking like a magnificent piece of artwork. I turn toward the direction of the apartment, hurting more than ever, wondering if he's staring out the window and looking toward me as well.
Me: No, don't come over. I'm getting a divorce attorney if you don't respect my wishes.
The phone rings. I send it to voicemail, my heart pounding like a jackhammer.
Me: I'm not talking to you right now.
Riggs: Do not say you're divorcing me. That's not an option for us, and you know it. We're not meant to be apart, pet.
His statement only makes the pain expand. I don't want to divorce him. But why would he want to keep me? He married me to get at my father. I text him one final message.
Me: Stay away. Or I will go get a divorce attorney. Goodnight.
I turn off my phone and go into the bedroom, slipping under the covers, trying to smell any remnant of Riggs from the last time we stayed here. But the sheets have been washed, adding to my fears. There's no trace of him anywhere. And I wonder if there will ever be a time when things are as they were between us.
As exhausted as I am, I can't sleep. I should close the shades, but there's comfort in the lights of the city.
It's another example of calm chaos.
More pain fills me. I wish the city could swallow me up and make me disappear, numbing the ache of reality I can't escape.
I toss and turn for hours, cry on and off, then finally curl into a ball, staring past the side of the bed he should be on and at the buildings.
Then the scent of woody spice laced with orange peels flares in my nostrils, and I think I'm imagining things. I inhale deeper, and a creep of electricity bursts throughout my skin.
I'm losing it.
"Pet," Riggs's voice demands.
A shiver runs down my spine. I clutch my thighs together and hold my breath, wondering if I'm going crazy or if he's really here.
"Pet, look at me," he commands.
My pulse skyrockets. I slowly turn, my insides quiver, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Riggs crouches next to the bed. Even in the darkness, I can tell his eyes are bloodshot, his hair wild. I've never seen him look so disheveled. It reminds me of how my father looked at the fundraiser.
Riggs slides his large palm over my cheek.
My tears fall freely, his scent and touch lighting me up and killing my soul, all in one powerful surge of torture. I hate that I still want him so much. I told him to stay away, yet deep down, there's comfort he's here.
He slides next to me, tugging me into his arms, and all I can do is sob. He repeatedly murmurs, "Shh" and "I'm sorry."
He holds me like he always does. Like I'm his, as if he owns me and nothing feels safer.
Yet I'm not protected. He's proven he can destroy me and not think twice about it. So I finally force myself to push at his chest and look up. I accuse, "How could you?"
