The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,122
if I’m joking or being serious. This is the first time I’ve hit him with something like this. A manuscript on fire. He's had to deal with me being late many times, but not dangerously late, and definitely not this.
“I threw it into the fire.” I look at the floor, at my desk, trying to locate the damn box of donuts.
“You’re not kidding me, are you?”
“I swear I’m not. I threw it into the fire.”
“You needed to get it to me, Ward. It needs to go to the editor next week.”
“Shame about that.”
“Should I ask why you threw it into the fire?”
“Probably not.”
“Print off another copy. Send me that.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t use this manuscript.”
“What?” he shrieks. This is another new thing he’s heard from me. He makes another low-rumbling noise which is a cross between disappointment and rage.
“What do you mean you can’t use this manuscript”
“I can’t.”
“Why are you talking in riddles? What’s going on? Is Mari there?”
“She's gone, too.”
I hear a deep grumble at the other end. “What have you gone and done? I’m about to catch a flight to the Bahamas. It’s supposed to be an anniversary present for my wife. I was supposed to enjoy this trip because I thought I’d have received and read your manuscript by now.”
“Sorry.”
He huffs out loudly. It’s the sound of exasperation, frustration and downright giving up.
“Say it,” I taunt him. “Say you’ve given up on me. Tell me I’m useless.” Others have. I sniff, then take another sniff of my armpits. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. The room stinks. The blinds are still drawn. I haven’t showered since … since that argument with Mari
The TV room is a mess and so I’ve come into the study even though writing is the last thing on my mind. I can’t make out if it’s daylight or night outside and I don’t want to find out, either.
“You make it hard for me to want to work with you, Ward.”
“Then don’t. Walk away.”
“What happened?” he asks. I can hear the concern in his voice. I know Rob. He probably wants to walk away but can’t. He’s too decent, too caring. I should be lucky to count him as a friend.
“I got bored,” I reply. I got bored of giving a fuck. I got sick and tired of being let down.
“You miss this deadline and it’s going to cost you,” he threatens. “Don’t mention your fans getting pissed off, think of all the people working to get this book to market. You might feel okay about letting yourself down, but you’re letting down whole departments of people.”
“As many as that?” I mumble, stretching out on the couch and looking around, trying to find something to eat. Then I see it, the box of donuts. Only, it’s lying on the floor near the fireplace and it looks almost empty.
I don’t even remember finishing it off. I don’t even know what day it is. A weekday or the weekend. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was suffering a bad hangover, because drink would have helped numb my feelings. I don't care for alcohol, but it would probably be way cooler than overdosing on a box of donuts. Food coma has always suited me. Maybe because there is a deep seated urge to feed myself, to not go hungry. Food signals comfort. No food signals terror.
My own mother didn’t care that I was up in the attic starving and scared. She was happy for her husband to leave me there for days without food. How could she not care?
“What caused this?” Rob asks. “Was it revisiting your childhood home?”
“No. Wasn’t that.” I wish I hadn’t mentioned it to him.
“Because you were fine. You were on target up until then. What happened?”
What happened? I fell back into the spiral again. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t save myself if I tried. Despite my outward shell, my world within is fragile. I can plummet in a second.
I have. “Stuff happened,” I answer. I consider ordering more donuts. I’ve come to love the expensive donuts from that fancy bakery in town. I blame Mari for that. She’s the one who introduced me to them. I blame her for everything.
Rob huffs out loud enough for me to hear. He's incensed. “I can’t do this anymore, Ward. I need to be someplace else.”
“Then don't.”
“I treated you like a friend but I can’t do anymore for you. I can’t save you if you won’t save yourself.” The line goes dead. The bastard