Page 73 of Repluse

I’ve barely read the message when my phone rings with a call from Frankie.

“Don’t hang up,” he orders. “Put your phone down somewhere and let us listen. I’m not having you alone with him and us sitting out here not knowing what the fuck is going on. We love you.”

“Love you, too,” I almost sob out the words. Never in my life have I felt so cared for, so cherished. I want to wallow in the feeling, wrap it around me, but now’s not the time, so I take what I’m feeling, and I tuck it away with everything else I need to process, only allowing the comfort and strength of knowing I have it to remain at surface level.

Knowing I’m loved by Frankie and Sam gives me the strength I need to face my husband.

While waitingfor Logan to arrive, my eyes land on the box Amanda brought in earlier, and I’m about to put my phone underneath it when my mum’s hand slides from her chest and lands on my bag I’d placed beside her on the bed when I came in.

I look between my mum’s hand on my bag, and my hands holding the box as my scalp prickles and goosebumps rush across my skin.

I cover my mouth with my free hand, and with my heart beating violently against the walls of my chest, I move my mum’s hand back to her chest, and put the box in my bag. I then turn myphone face down on the table and slide the box of tissues sitting on the corner next to it.

The door opens.

I turn my head and watch my husband walk in.

His hair is damp and curling at the ends. At least he’s had the decency to shower.

I’m suddenly too hot. The prickles I had on my scalp have spread to my entire body, replacing the goosebumps.

My eyes meet his, and then I do something I haven’t been brave enough to do in all our years of marriage. I slowly close my eyes, give a small shake of my head, and hope the contempt I feel for him is apparent as I look away.

“Why didn’t you call?” is the first thing he asks. He doesn’t tell me he’s sorry for my loss, doesn’t ask how I’m doing. He asks why I didn’t call.

“What would be the point?” I question without looking at him.

“I could’ve been here for you, comeherewithyou.”

“I thought you were in Queensland.”

He pauses beside my chair, but I don’t look up.

“I was… I mean, I got home today. I was going to drive down to see you this morning and bring you home.”

I don’t respond. What’s the point of responding to one lie with another?

“She went peacefully, then.” It’s a statement, not a question, so again I don’t reply. “You doing okay?”

“Great. My mum just died. Of course I’m doing great.”

“Mila, I know this must be a shock?—”

“Why are you here?” I cut in.

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m… I’m your husband. I thought… What the fuck has gotten into you?”

I think of the ways I could answer that: Sam, Frankie, their cocks, their come.

“I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here, so if there’s somewhere else you need to be, feel free to go. Oh, and I…”

I don’t get to finish telling him I won’t be coming home, because he grabs the hair at the back of my head roughly and pulls my head back till I’m looking up at him.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

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