Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
My breaking heart pulls me back toward the kitchen.
My head leads me out of the front door, not looking back.
December 23rd
I don’t remember getting home yesterday. I vaguely recall getting a bottle of wine out of the fridge, but I don’t remember finishing it. Don’t remember having a shower, which I only know happened because my hair was still damp when I woke up. I don’t remember unwrapping the collage of pictures of Noah. I don’t remember tipping out all the unpacked boxes and hanging Mummy’s and Noah’s stockings on the wall.
I do remember sobbing for so long my face is stinging and blemished today. And I do know I can’t be in this apartment alone a moment longer. I feel numb. Hollow.
Back to square one, except I have an added loss as fresh as the loss of my child to cope with. And more anger, but this anger is all for myself for being so naïve and ridiculous to believe my life could bear any semblance to normal again.
This is on me.
Dec’s absolute silence—no message, no call, no visit—screams his answer. He loves me. So much. But the stability he wants for his child outweighs that.
He’ll move on. As everyone else seems to do.
I wrap up and step into my boots, pulling a hat on as I search my apartment for my phone, trying to remember the last time I saw it. I can’t. And I don’t need it, anyway. So I abandon my search and head out, looking up at the white sky when I make it outside. One fat snowflake floats down before me and lands on an icicle that’s formed on the bare blossom tree, and something inside the frozen water shines at me, pulling me close.
A white feather is frozen in the spiked ice. Perfectly preserved. As white as snow.
Beautiful but trapped.
Reaching for it, I drag the pad of my gloved finger down the ice, catching a drop of water off the bottom that sinks into the material of my glove. Melting to nothing. Without a purpose. A lot like how I feel too.
December 24th
December 24th
* * *
I walked so far yesterday, I had to stop at Boots to pick up some blister plasters. I wake up on a wince when I move, my muscles aching as I get up and walk to the kitchen, my feet throbbing. I get a coffee and sit at the table, staring into space, not allowing my mind to wander. I can hear the wind whistling outside, a snowstorm arriving on time as predicted. I look down into the swirling black liquid, the thoughts I’m fighting to blank out winning the battle to make it through.
I want to come home.
Home.
It’s not a place. A building, a house.
It’s family.
She’s back.
I want Albi to have a stable home.
And I’m far from stable.
God, you’re poison.
A forceful bang on my door sounds, startling me out of my daydream, and I drag my tired, aching body up to answer. Pulling it open, I recoil when I find Anthony on the other side.
“You cunning bitch,” he hisses, sending me flying back into my apartment with a brutal shove in my chest.
I cry out, shocked more than hurt, and just catch my footing before I fall to my arse. I don’t manage to save my coffee, though, and it spills out of the cup all over my hand, scolding it. “Shit.”
“So you think you’re smart?” he says, his face twisted in anger. “Swooping in and fucking up my plans for your own gain?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Anthony?” I ask, shaking my burning hand, distracted by the pain rather than the raging bull in front of me, looking like he’s about to charge at any moment.
“Dec Ellis!” he roars. “The man you’re fucking and feeding information to.”
I’m so fucking lost. “He didn’t buy the company, Anthony,” I remind him. “You took great pleasure in sharing that information before you fired me.” I go to the kitchen, no longer able to stand the burn, and shove my hand under the cold tap. “Get the hell out of my apartment or I’ll call the police.” Suddenly, my head is yanked back by my hair, snapping my neck sharply, sending shooting pain up into my skull. “Fuck!” I yelp.
“Call them,” he hisses in my face. “I won’t be dumb enough to get caught like Phillip did.”
I wrench myself out of his hold, surely losing a few tufts of hair as I do. “Get out.” I turn around to face him, grabbing a towel and holding it over my hand as he moves in, intimidating and large. “You’re nothing but a bully, Anthony. If you’re going to hit me, then fucking do it so I can get on with my day.”
He raises his hand, but I don’t cower or flinch, likely pissing him off some more.