Page 150 of Seizing Control: Part One

I was truthful with him about it.

I didn’t stick around to see how he felt about my adultery.

While I’ve made it clear from the start that I won’t choose, Slash has made it equally clear that he won’t share me. We’ve gone round and round on the issue without reaching a truce. I’ve dug my heels in. He’s backtracked on his promise not to make an ultimatum.

The last time I saw him, I punched him in the face and kneed him in the balls.

I know he’s been looking for me.

I don’t know the reason why.

He mightn’t even want me.

He could simply be following through with my divorce request.

So, while my pregnancy may satisfy the final requirement set down by the Trinity, it also creates a new problem in my life. Even if I pretend to Nadia that it’ll be all right, the reality is that it isn’t. I can’t get the time I lost with Zeke back. I can’t magically fix my marriage.

This world will never be fair.

But I didn’t expect it to be this hard.

“Fuck.”

“Anna,” Nadia yells after me when I snatch the positive test out of her hand, then push past her to dart out of the restrooms. “Jesus. Cherub.”

As fast as I can, I run through the shopping mall.

Past the supermarket.

Toward the exit where I parked the 1968 Dodge Charger I stole from Uncle Cass.

As I reach the doors, the pharmacy where Nadia purchased the pregnancy test catches my attention. I duck inside, use the credit card I swore was only for emergencies to purchase two items, then jog toward my vehicle.

Once I’m inside, I deny another of Nadia’s incoming calls, and text her instead.

LILY: I’m fine. Just need space to get my head on right. Will call you when I get to the farmhouse xo

Without waiting for her response, I rip open the two boxes.

Tom Ford Black Orchid.

Giorgio Armani Acqua Di Giò.

Zeke’s cologne.

And my husband’s.

Like a junkie, I spray them both on my t-shirt, then I pull the collar over my nose and sink down in the driver’s seat. My head pounds. My pulse races in my ears. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. My need for them is a cancer. A sickness. I’m an addict. Hooked on their poison. Afflicted with my love for them. I’m numb to the toxicity that my refusal to move on from them brings.

Drowning in their combined scents, I allow my confusion full rein.

I also allow the tears to fall.

I’m past the point of caring that I sob like a baby at the drop of a hat.

It’s basically a defining characteristic of my personality nowadays.

That thought makes me laugh out loud.

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