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"Stop moping," I mutter. "What's done is done. Moping isn't going to fix anything."
It just closes its eyes and whines.
"Bitch," I say sourly.
It huffs.
I look down at my phone, my thoughts uncertain. I have to message Adam, but my fingers won't move. After what Tony told me, I want to hear what Adam has to say, but the human part of me that feels humiliated at being treated like a fool doesn't want to reach out.
"Just do it," I tell myself, but my fingers won't move.
I'll do it later on once I'm feeling more myself. I don't want him around me when I'm so vulnerable.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, I don't have to wait long to see him. I wake up in the middle of the night, suddenly thirsty,and my hand reaches out only to knock the glass to the floor. However, I don't hear it crash to the ground.
Opening my eyes fully, I come face to face with Adam, who looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I stare at him, shocked for a full minute. He's lost weight, a lot of it, and he looks exhausted.
When he immediately moves to the door, I grab him by the back of his shirt, growling, "Where do you think you're going?"
He goes still, and I realize what I’ve just done. However, my fingers refuse to let go, and he stays like that, his back to me, frozen on the spot.
After a moment, he says, “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”
“I’m not your biggest fan right now,” I respond, my voice tense, “but I have questions, and apparently, you have all the answers, so take a damn seat and let’s talk.”
Adam hesitantly sits down on the two-seater, and I switch on the lamp. If I thought he looked bad in the dark, he looks so much worse in the light.
“Is this how you’re looking around my kid?” I demand. “Like some emaciated corpse?”
“Our kid,” he corrects, almost automatically, and my upper lip curls. He immediately shuts up.
I stare at him for a few seconds. “What were you doing here?”
He looks uncomfortable, unable to meet my gaze. “I wanted to see how you were doing. Tony hasn’t been letting me visit, and neither has Lydia.”
“I see.”
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Wonderful.” My voice is dry. “Not at all like somebody yanked the fucking rug from under my feet.”
I’m not one to use curse words, but I’m not very happy right now, either.
He lowers his gaze. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” I demand. “That’s all you’ve got to say? I was happy, Adam. I was doing fine without you. So why the hell did you have to come here and ruin everything?”
My words are cruel, and I know they are, but a part of me wants him to feel a measure of the pain I’m feeling.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is dull, and I want to throw something at him because the wealth of misery in his voice makes my heart ache.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” He looks up at me.
“That Jonathon found out you having given me the mating mark.”
