Page 105

When did I lose it all?
When did my will to move on,
Become my wish to fall?
When was it that I gave up?
I’m a hollow, empty shell.
There’s no answer that I know of,
And no way out of this hell.
Everywhere I look, I see my dead husband. Lying in bed, sitting on a chair. He haunts this house in a way he never has before. It’s not fear I’m feeling when the ghost of him appears as distant memories. It’s anger.
I shouldn’t have come back here.
I ran away from a man I love, only to come back to a past I hate.
My reflection is pale in the mirror. The bags under my eyes are back, and I look like shit. I wipe the fog from the shinysurface. The steam of the shower still lingers. It’s late and I’m drained, both physically and emotionally, but I can’t sleep.
Not without Mason next to me. I’m cold without him and feel weaker than I do when I’m with him. Maybe that’s the way I trained myself. To be brave when there’s someone to lean on.What kind of bravery is that?
I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes. I tell myself that I was wrong to love him, and somehow fooled into thinking it was real. If I convince myself it was never real, it will be so much easier to let go.
Opening my eyes only reveals the men of my past surrounding me in the mirror. Mason on my right, and Jace on my left, standing next to me in the reflection.
I blink once, and they’re gone.
Leaving me alone, and isn’t that what I wanted?
A chill runs through my blood as I focus on just breathing and calming myself. Bottles of perfume are lined up so neatly on the shelf. Chanel Chance is the first one in the row of expensive and elegant bottles. My breathing comes in harsh pants as I stare at it. It’s nearly halfway empty. It was a Christmas gift.
I wonder if he gave his mistresses the same kind of gifts? What about the woman he had killed?The one pregnant with his child?
The last thought snaps my last bit of control. A wretched cry echoes in the bathroom, burning my throat as I whip my hand across the shelf. The tinkling, crashing and shattering of glass fills the room as I stand there heaving. I grip the edge of the bathroom door, tears blurring my vision and stare back at myself. I fucking hate who I was. Naïve and stupid. “So fucking stupid!” I scream at myself. “I hate you!” I yell out. “I hate what you did to me!”
My body sways as I harshly wipe under my eyes, turning from the mirror before I shatter it as well. The overwhelmingscent of the perfumes mix in the air and I slam the door shut behind me, hating how it reeks and how the mess from my outburst, reckless and yet again stupid, will stay there until I clean it up. I’ll be the one picking up the tiny pieces of shattered glass. That’s how it works when these men storm in, destroying everything and demanding I follow their lead.
Jace’s closet is across from the bathroom. It was untouchable before when he passed. I couldn’t bear to open it and see all of his clothes. Suits he would never wear again. Shirts that held memories.
I rip the doors open chaotically, but then pause and walk in ever so slowly, flicking on the light. The U-shaped closet is lined with crisp white dress shirts and a myriad of colors on the left. Suits on the right. In the very back is his collection of soccer jerseys. He started buying them all the way back in high school. I remember the first one he ever got. I spot it as the memory comes flooding back.
I told him the red brought out his eyes.
I clench my teeth as I tear the shirt down. The fabric feels like nothing in my fisted hand.
I told him how handsome he looked in it.
A scream I don’t recognize as my own joins me when I grab the others, tearing them off the hangers and tossing them onto the floor.
He whispered that he wanted to see me in nothing but the jersey.
I kick the pile of jerseys aside and then dump the suits onto the floor, screaming as the memory washes over me.
I smiled, I wore it just for him and made love to him for the first time in that fucking jersey.
“I hate you!”