because I was vulnerable, and being vulnerable always leaves you open for attack. It’s ridiculous because all along, I was working so hard to let my walls down for him when it was actually his walls that needed a swift boot in the arse.
And to use the excuse that he was protecting me? Fuck right off with that. I am my own person, and I decide what I can and cannot handle. His lack of understanding in that makes me wonder if anything he ever felt for me was real.
It was real for me.
It painfully still is.
My love for him is still so stupidly strong that I hate myself for not being able to turn it off like he so easily did. Perhaps that makes it obvious that his love wasn’t real. No one who loves someone could just drop them off at the bloody train station to make the journey home alone. That is not love.
Regardless, I will get through this. I got myself sober on my own, I mourned the loss of a life I grew inside me on my own, so I can certainly get over a seven-week relationship with Santino Rossi.
“Tilly, tell your boyfriend to answer my texts!” Mac shouts from the lower level. His footsteps clomp up the stairs, and I quickly swipe my cheeks to hide any evidence of my tears. “The prat owes me ten quid from losing our bet Friday night.”
Mac passes the open nursery door to head to my room but then pauses when he sees I’m in here, sitting in the rocking chair, holding wee Fergie’s outfit in my hands.
I shoot him a sheepish smile. “This nursery is incredible, Mac.”
He steps in and looks around, taking in the space with a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s coming along. Freya’s the brains. I’m just the brawn.” He flexes his bicep and laughs. “What are you doing in here?”
I splay my hands out on the arms of the chair, rocking back and forth. “Just appreciating your efforts.”
“Is that right?” His brows furrow as he watches me for a moment. “It looks to me like you’re having a think over something.” He leans on the changing table and crosses his arms. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m just excited for you guys. Seeing all this set up makes it feel so real.”
“Aye, sure.” He rubs the back of his neck and gets an awkward look in his eyes. “Does it feel strange ever?”
“What?”
He shrugs and looks at the floor. “Thinking about the fact that you could have a wee five-year-old running around if things had turned out differently for you?”
My throat clamps up because I wasn’t expecting that question. My miscarriage isn’t something I’m comfortable discussing. Ever. However, I suppose since opening up to Mac about everything that happened, perhaps pushing those boundaries would be good for me.
I exhale heavily and finally reply, “Not strange. Just…sad.”
He nods thoughtfully. “You’re sad still? Even though the arsehole who slept with you took advantage of you?”
My shoulders lift. “That wasn’t the baby’s fault.” My chin wobbles, so I quickly look out the window and try to get control of myself.
Mac harumphs. “That bairn would have been lucky to have you, Tilly.”
My eyes snap to his at the very surprising compliment from my brother. “That’s a really nice thing to say, Mac.” My voice is garbled with emotion that I can’t even begin to hide.
“I’m known to be nice every once in a while. Every dog has his day, you know.”
I croak out a laugh that relieves the pressure in my chest. “You’re a very good dog.”
He gets a tender look in his eye as he stares at me. “Your time will come, Tilly. I’m sure of it.”
When he walks out, more tears fall because I fear now more than ever that my time will never come. And before Santino Rossi came back into my life, I was okay with that.
Now…I want more.
Sunday: Lonely train ride home with a permanent scowl on my face. I hate everyone on this bloody train. And the fact that I was seated across from an elderly couple who held hands the entire journey feels like a giant, “Fuck off, Santino” from the universe.
Monday: I go to work early after sleeping like shit and stomping around in the middle of the night to hide anything relating to Tilly. I even throw away my bloody basil plant because I can’t even stand to look at it