30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,2

longer mine.

***

“Hey, sleepyhead. Get up,” a stern but sweet voice greets me.

“My head,” I moan. “Water, please. Water.”

“I’ve got you covered, but you don’t deserve it.”

Sammy’s voice. Shit. “I’m sure I don’t, but please give it to me.”

A glass is pressed into my hand. The water cuts through my throat like razor blades when I gulp it down. Kill me.

“I guess you aren’t coping then?” Sammy’s eyebrows are drawn together. She gently touches my shoulder as her long torso hunches over me.

My eyes strain. “What would give you that idea?” My throat is dry and raspy. Did I smoke?

“Probably finding you on the grass out front, drunk again. You rambling about something that happened a while ago now—those reasons. Look, Abi, your dog dying and finding out your ex-fiancé is engaged again in one day, is a lot to go through. It is … But, it’s been a month, and you can’t keep dwelling on the past. No good is going to come from this. You need to get it together.” A beat passes. “Abigail, she was just a dog. It’s not the same as when your dad passed. Get another dog if it will make you feel better.”

My mouth drops open. “She wasn’t just a dog. She can’t be replaced. Bella was my baby. I loved her. Why would you even bring up my dad? God, what the actual fuck?”

“Sweetie. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” Sammy stands, rubbing her fingers into each temple. “Please. You need to let this hurt out in a way that doesn’t include a bottle of liquor. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“I’ll do it my way. My way.”

Sammy sits beside me. I’m in her bed—the tacky 1980s yellow curtains framing the window are a dead giveaway.

“You’re safe here. I love you, Abi. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always have me.” Playing with the loose strands of my hair, she sighs. My dirty blonde locks slide between her fingers. Softly, she hums and then sings, “Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton, the same song they played at my father’s funeral. Tears slide over my lips. At first, it’s a slow stream. But before long, I’m sobbing, then crying, and what I feared would happen—howling.

“It’s not fair,” I scream in pain.

Sammy continues singing.

I’m living in a hell loop; one I don’t think I’ll ever escape. I can’t do this anymore.

TWO

Intervention

Living with my mother has its perks, but I’m still not sure if they outweigh the fact I’m housed back under her roof.

Closing the front door, on exit, I turn and walk towards the car.

“How are do you plan on getting home tonight? Mum asks, as I climb into the passenger seat of her Gecko car—Ford Festiva; green in colour.

“Taxi or something”, is my initial response. But she shakes her head and purses that damn mouth of hers. “Someone will probably give me a lift. Don’t stress about it. I’m not.”

“I’m working the nightshift. I can’t pick you up if you get yourself in trouble again.”

“It’s fine.” I fasten my seatbelt. Why she even works so much is beyond me. Dad’s life insurance covers everything we need.

“Please don’t drink too much.”

“Mum!”

“I worry.” She tucks her light-coloured curls behind her ears.

“You never worry. Stop it.” I roll my eyes. “Trish’s house isn’t far from ours. I can probably walk home if it comes down to it.” I shrug, turning up the volume of the radio so Mum stops talking.

“You look pretty, petal.”

Stop talking. I roll my eyes for a second time.

“Abi, stop being rude.”

I grunt. I know the way I’m treating Mum is wrong. I’d never have dismissed her in such a way before my life crumbled out from under me, but I can’t seem to bite my tongue. I also can’t seem to prevent projecting my internal pain on everyone I love. I’m so mean to her.

“You do look beautiful tonight.”

“Whatever. I’m only wearing an everyday dress, nothing spectacular. Drop it.” Stop talking to her like this Abi.

“Well, I like the green on you. It’s lovely against your eyes.”

“Watch the road, will you?” My hands shelter my face in pretend horror of a likely car wreck.

“Really?” she tuts, annoyed. “I haven’t even pulled out of the park yet.”

“What? You haven’t?” I grin.

“You know, your eyes are just like your father’s.”

“Yes, I know. Stop talking and get to driving.” I can’t think about Dad right now! That hurt stings.

Mum drives, and as she does, I drift off, thinking about finally being face-to-face with my friends again, and then I