half cry, half plea, all demand. I need them both out of my house right this second. I need space. I need air. I need … I don’t even know.
I came home to make a baby … to make love to my husband.
And this ...
“Maybe you should …” He starts to suggest something, bringing my gaze back up to him, and his expression changes—self-preservation, regret, resignation… I don’t know. But he thinks better of whatever he was going to say. “Okay. We’ll go,” he says, climbing onto the bed to make his way over to her … to Mindy. The way he slips an arm around her waist, protectively, like he’s done to me so many times, it makes me lose what tiny grip on sanity I have left.
When the dresser hits the ground, my eyes go wide.
I didn’t even know I could do that.
As I’m inspecting my work, the door to the bathroom that’s attached to our bedroom shuts behind me and I hear the lock slide into place.
My head whips around as I glare at the closed door.
Oh, that’s rich.
“Are you seriously locking yourself in the bathroom?” I scoff. “Are you scared, Asher? Not man enough to face me?” A humorless laugh escapes and I begin to pace around the room and that action brings me back to the reason I’m here in the first place. Pacing … Ovulating … Happy …
When the lump in my throat becomes too much to bear, I finally let the tears fall.
My insides begin to rip in two, part of me wanting to stay angry—fired up, and downright pissed the hell off—while the other part wants to crumble into the used sheets and fall apart.
When I open my mouth to speak this time, it’s broken and small. “How could you…” About the time I let the tears break free and collapse to the floor in front of the bathroom door, I hear sirens from a distance.
They get closer and closer until they’re right outside the window.
The next thing I hear is the front door open and my daddy’s voice coming from downstairs. “Em,” he calls out. “Em, it’s Dad. I’m gonna need you to come down here, honey.”
I shake my head as the lump is back and it begins to squeeze, making me unable to speak.
“Emmie,” he says a second time, firmer, but I can’t talk. I don’t budge. I can’t. I won’t.
This is my house.
Asher is my husband.
I came home to make a baby.
How did this happen?
“Tempest?”
This time it’s Sheriff James’s voice that’s carrying up the stairs. “Honey, can you please come down here so we can talk this out like adults? I don’t want to have to take you in.”
“Did you seriously call the cops on me?” I ask quietly, banging my head against the bathroom door.
Asher’s sigh is muffled, yet audible, and I can only assume he’s mimicking my position on the other side of the door. “You were acting crazy,” he says. “Mindy was scared.”
Bolting up at the mention of her name, my anger fueled anew, I bang my fist against the door.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Asher?” Next it’s my foot that kicks the door and then I’m using the piece of wood like a punching bag. “How long, Asher? How many times?” I scream, letting out all the hurt I’m feeling on the sad excuse for a door. When I kick it again, my foot makes contact with the knob and I hear Mindy scream when it breaks off and falls to the floor.
“EM!”
A second later, my dad and Sheriff James are standing in my bedroom, surveying the damage. “What in the—” My daddy’s words break off and he looks over at me with wide, shocked eyes. “Are you okay?”
I finally step away from the door and let my back thud against the bedroom wall, shaking my head, I begin to sob.
Sheriff James walks to the bathroom door and gives it a quick knock. “Asher.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“Gonna need you to step out, son.”
“Uh,” Asher opens the door, but only exposes his head. “Do, uh… do you think you could hand us some clothes?”
At least he has the decency to sound embarrassed.
Good, I hope he’s ashamed of himself.
I hope he’s fucking humiliated.
Most of all, I hope he’s fucking happy.
“Could you—” Sheriff James looks to me for some assistance, but quickly changes his mind, obviously deciding that’s a bad idea and goes about collecting articles of clothing from around the room. “Make it quick,” he says, handing them