You Know I Love You (You Are Mine #3) - Willow Winters Page 0,26

me in the eyes.

She’s so ashamed to love me, she can’t even say it back.

Kat

I don’t know what I’m more ashamed about as I carelessly toss the throw blanket over one arm of the sofa and force myself get up, still feeling the ache between my thighs.

The fact that I fucked my husband.

Or the fact that I then refused to go to bed with him.

Not that I told him so much. I hid behind work and then snuck out here to the living room. I didn’t sleep on the sofa for more than a few hours. Maybe that’s all I’m entitled to for being so weak and falling right into his arms the moment he pulled me in.

It’s like our union is a spiraling dark hole and I’m falling deeper and deeper, to the point where what I want and what I’m feeling don’t make sense and nothing adds up. Not that I could hold on to anything anyway; I’ve lost all control.

I couldn’t possibly feel more pathetic at this point.

Because I love him and hate myself for it.

I glance at my phone on the dining room table as I make my way to the kitchen, the charging cord is in a tangled heap on the floor.

I already know what Sue would say. She’d feel sorry for me for going back to the man who cheated on me. Her lips would purse in that way where it’s obvious she’s holding back some snarky remark.

Pity and sorrow for the pathetic girl, clinging to an unfaithful man. Even the bitter thought echoes what I already know she’d say.

The thing about love though is that it’s not a light switch. You can’t just turn it off. No matter how much you may want to, you can’t erase the memories and move on. Sue knows that much, she just chooses to forget that it’s not so easy.

My head throbs and I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of sleep or the absence of caffeine. Even the faint sounds of city life from stories down are enough to make my temples pulse. I’ve felt more put together with a hangover than I do now. This is not the unfortunate side effect of too much cabernet last night. I wish it was only that.

I groan as I rest against the wall of the living room and try to calm the headache. I close my eyes and feel the weight of all the stress from the last two weeks.

I need aspirin or coffee. Or both. My heart sputters as I slowly walk up the stairs, knowing Evan’s lying in bed alone and that it was my choice.

As I pass the office I remember last night and my thighs clench; I can still feel him inside of me. His warm lips on my neck, his rough hands on my body … it’s more than a memory, the act still lingers on my skin. He took from me. Relentlessly, possessively. Each step brings my body temperature higher and higher, yet my heart hurts more and more.

Why won’t the pain just go away? Why can’t my head just shut the fuck up so I can pretend I’m okay for a single moment? Jules told me once I overthink everything. She was referring to some edits I gave her but still, the woman had a point.

The bedroom door is open and as I walk through the door, I can’t take my eyes off the perfectly made bed. The cream and white comforter printed with black dahlias is pulled tight, looking pristine. A crease forms in the center of my forehead as I walk to the bathroom, listening to my heart beat with each step, but finding the bathroom empty. Evan wasn’t downstairs, I think as I open the medicine cabinet and silently grab a bottle of aspirin. He wasn’t downstairs, and he’s not up here.

I swallow the pills without water, staring into the mirror as my heart clenches, the dark bags under my eyes looking significantly worse than yesterday morning. Did he even stay last night? Did he find me asleep on the sofa and decide to leave? It’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?

The cabinet door slams shut; I give the push more force than I meant to, but I ignore it, striding quickly down to the kitchen, the baggy T-shirt flowing around my thighs as one sleeve slips down my shoulder.

I just need coffee. Coffee will wake me, rid me of this headache and give me the energy I