Page 17 of White Rabbit

“Morning love,” Chad mumbles, stumbling into my studio in a T-shirt and his pajama pants. He places a soft kiss on my shoulder. “Are you coming to the coffee shop?”

My social battery was critically low today, and I was absorbed into this piece. It wasn’t finished. There was something still missing. I shake my head. “Nah, I’m going to keep working on this for a bit longer.”

Chad sighs, as he wraps himself around me, hugging me from behind. “You really should make more effort to be social.”

Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “We had dinner with everyone last night.”

My life has been busy lately, so much so I was feeling tired constantly.

Between juggling my job, my family, my father’s constant criticism, Chad and my friends, I was just…exhausted. The weight of everyone’s expectations and demands were weighing me down, and I couldn’t keep my head above water. All I wanted to do with my morning was paint out my feelings and then go to work later this afternoon.

“And Tiff is your best friend,” Chad reminds me, with something sharp in his tone. It rubs me the wrong way, and I can feel my hackles rise. I never had an issue with them going out together for coffee or to clubs. We were independent people, so why must I go to everything he wants me to? Why couldn’t I just stay home on the days where I had no energy for people?

Through gritted teeth, I reply, “So I’m sure she’ll understand that I’m working on something.”

Trying to free myself from his grasp, I keep working on my print, but he doesn’t let go, just adjusts so that his arms are still around my waist while I try to paint. His body is stuck to mine, like he’s trying to meld us into one being. Until we share one skin and one brain, and everything in me rebels at that thought.

He makes a few thoughtful noises before he admits, “I don’t really know what I’m looking at here. Flowers maybe? A sea?”

Clicking his tongue, he finally detaches from me. Of course, he doesn’t understand, not because he’s stupid, but because he doesn’t care to understand. Because he doesn’t look at it for more than a moment before writing it off as ‘flowers’.

I turn and glare at him until he holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, but I need to head back to mine afterwards, so I’ll call you later. Yeah?”

“Yeah, I'll speak to you later.”

He plants a kiss on the top of my head and finally leaves. It isn’t until I hear the front door click shut that I let my shoulders drop and my body relax. It isn’t supposed to be this hard.

Last night, when we’d come back from dinner a little tipsy, we’d fallen into bed with one another like we usually do. But the whole time his hands were on me, Anoushka Volkov’s words were ringing in my head.

Do you love him? Do you love him? Do you love him?

Did I?

I could still smell the sweet scent of her cigarette smoke and see her ruby red lips moving. End it. Bite the bullet. End it.

Chad’s soft touches and gentle mouth hadn’t been enough to bind me in the moment. To keep me grounded with him. I may have physically been in bed, but my mind was elsewhere, wondering if this was the life I wanted.

If Tiff was still mad at me.

If Chad was going to propose again.

If he was going to keep pushing the issue.

If I would be forced to turn him down.

If my father would ever be proud of me.

If Andrew was a drug addict.

If it was Creed with me, would I be drifting like this inside my brain? Or would he tether me, forcing me to exist in the moment.

If Anoushka was right.

End it.

Bite the bullet.

Chad hadn’t noticed, rolling over once he’d come with a grumbled “G’night. Love you.”

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