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Lilah came to awareness slowly. She felt completely limp and drained and just… exhausted. She recognized the signs; knew that it was because she’d just suffered a major asthma attack. It usually left her feeling wrung out for several days.
She frowned, eyes still shut, something wasn’t right. And she couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was. She inhaled slowly, drawing in the breath as deeply as she could, and smiled when she could do so without any impediment at all. It was always such a relief to be able breathe normally after an attack. The sheer, claustrophobic terror and panic of being unable to draw in enough oxygen was very hard to recover from emotionally and mentally. And that initial pure breath upon waking up the morning after an attack was—for Lilah—an important first step toward recuperation.
Who knew air could feel like such a decadent treat?
Well, Lilah did, and it was something nobody else in her life would ever understand.
She opened her eyes—ready to face the world again—and then immediately wished she hadn’t when the first thing she saw was Ben uncomfortably slumped in the narrow wingback chair that usually sat—unused—in the corner of his room. He’d pulled the chair right up to the side of her bed, close enough to touch her if he wanted to. He was asleep, still wearing last night’s clothes, hair mussed, beard coming in dark and thick.
The memories of last night rushed back in an agonizing flood and stole the breath right out of her lungs again.
No.
Lilah absolutely was not ready to face him this morning. Or at all, ever again.
She had to get out of here. She didn’t even have to pack. She just needed to grab her purse. She had more than enough clothing still at the house in Constantia.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed—opposite to where Ben sat sleeping—and fended off a bout of dizziness as she dragged herself up. It said a lot about Ben’s exhaustion that the usually light sleeper remained dead to the world when she stumbled and hit the night stand, sending the lamp wobbling.
His breathing didn’t even change.
She crept to the walk-in closet and winced when she saw the bag with her clothes spilled all over the floor. She quickly stepped over it on her way to the en-suite, feeling too drained to even consider finishing the frenetic packing she’d started last night. Instead, she focused on the most immediate and basic of concerns, brushing her teeth and emptying her bladder. After that, she sent a quick text message to Jackson—telling him she needed a car ASAP.
She looked respectable enough in her shell-pink fleecy pajamas, and wasn’t going to bother changing right now. Not when time was of the essence.
She slipped her feet into her favorite pair of pink UGG boots, picked up her handbag, and walked to the front door, battling exhaustion and dizziness all the way. She could rest when she got home, for now it was important to get out of here. Away from the liar who seemed to be under the delusion that he was the world’s best husband.
She would wait for Jackson downstairs. She paused after unlocking the door and stared down at her left hand.
Well… that wouldn’t do at all. She tugged her wedding ring and engagement rings off her finger, they resisted over the knuckle, but in the end slid off quite easily. She left the rings in the empty fruit bowl, on the kitchen counter, next to Ben’s keys and wallet.
She took one last look around the apartment, and then left without another backward glance.
Ben awoke with a start when his phone buzzed in his shirt breast pocket. Disoriented, he darted a panicked glance around the room, then frowned at the empty, unmade bed.
“Lilah?” He sat up running a hand through his hair, and cast another look around the room, hoping it would yield some clue as to where she was. He checked his watch; it was nearly noon. He never slept this late but he’d only drifted off at around six that morning, every hitch in Lilah’s breathing sending him into a minor panic and keeping him from sleep. In the end exhaustion had won out and it would probably be more accurate to say that he’d passed out, rather than fell asleep.
He tilted his head, listening for any movement that would tell him where Lilah was in the apartment but he heard nothing.
“Lilah?” He added volume to his voice, and heard the note of concern creeping into his tone.
No answer.
Shit. What if she’d passed out? She was so stubborn, even weak as a kitten, she’d be out there trying to do shit she wasn’t supposed to do right now. And—pissed off as she was with him at the moment—she wouldn’t ask him for help.
