After the last time I caught her hurting herself, it terrified me for what her future held.
She thinks I don’t know.
She thinks I don’t see.
She thinks I don’t understand.
I do.
Just keep breathing, Joey.
Just keep breathing.
Chapter Thirty
Present
Joey
Pain.
Pain.
More pain.
My eyes pinch as a drilling digs into my skull. Fucking Christ. This is why I don’t like drinking. Even in the quiet of the room, I can hear whispering. The light noises filtering into my ears sound obnoxiously loud. My head throbs, agony needling into my temples over and over, reminding me that wine is the worst drink to get drunk on. It always makes me feel like death and fate fucked me at the same time. Since no one could win, I got the brunt of the pain.
My body feels gross. Like when you go to pass out in bed without showering and are still in the day before’s clothing, make-up, and sweat. It’s an unpleasant sheet that seems to stick to every crevasse of me right now.
Begrudgingly trying to roll over, I nearly fall on my ass. Noticing that I’m not on my bed, but rather the chaise lounge in our spare room. It’s big enough to fit me and Toby... don’t think of him. We spent nights upon nights christening our rooms with our ravenous fucking, this particular piece was Dr. Orgasm Gifter. Sometimes, it was sweet love. Most times, though? With his demanding nature and my need to be controlled in the bedroom, rough fucking was what ended up happening. Toby always gave me so much power by letting me choose to be bound and pushed.
Now, he doesn’t touch me. Not to hug, kiss, or be intimate in any way. It’s insane how we went from breaking all my walls down and learning so much about each other, to him being unable to look at me. I knew telling him my secret would burst in my face, but I just didn’t realize it’d be the thing to ruin us.
He says it’s not.
But we all know it’s the exact reason.
My body aches as I shuffle around the room, noticing I’m still in my sun dress. Heading to the walk-in closet that has a standing mirror, I nearly break down. My face is full of mascara. It’s smeared and dried in streaks down my face. It’s ugly and grotesque, and I hate it.
Francis. He came here.
Shit.
Walking over to the closed door in the room, I lean my ear against it, hoping to hear better. The voices are less muffled. It sounds like... Toby? My heart races. He came home? Rarely does he show up this soon after leaving. He hates being in the same place we fell further in love.
Why did I have to meet Loren?
Why did I push?
How can he not see I wanted to help?
Everything spiraled from that moment.
More so now than before, he hates me. He’s going to ruin me when he finds out the information I discovered. It wasn’t my intention to hurt him. I wanted to build a bridge, get him to love me more, but he ended up hating me in the end. More than he already did.
“You can’t keep doing this to her,” Francis’s voice strains, talking to what I’m guessing is my husband. They lost their friendship last year. Frankie didn’t stop trying, but Toby flinched every time at the mention of his name.
“She did this to us. You did this to us,” Toby’s low and lethal tone makes a shiver run up my spine.
“I told you, we didn’t fool around. She isn’t like that, and I sure as hell am not you or your goddamn brother.” The hiss of Frankie’s words has me uncomfortable. He’s furious, even if his tone sounds lighter than Toby’s. The way his French accent thickens with hatred shows how much he’s ready to explode. “She deserves better than you.”
“Fuck you. Leave.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with her. If she saw what you looked like when you showed up last night, the empty bottle, and your clothes... You’re a mess. She doesn’t need to see the fact that you let someone use you last night.”
Tears prick behind my eyelids, and a whimper escapes me as the words tumble in my mind. Nausea builds up, pinching my insides with a cruel fist. I’m rushing to the bathroom to heave when I hear the door open.
“Ladybug?” Francis’s soothing tone rings out. I don’t look up to see him when he enters the bathroom. His