Page 217 of My Rules

“In my bedroom?” He gives me the look, the one that he does so well. Fuck me, it says, and do it hard.

I point to the bed as I keep brushing my teeth. He ambles into the bedroom, and I smile to myself in the mirror. Being the object of Blake’s affection will never grow old.

I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

A million thoughts and no direction.

Tomorrow I’ve got the vet appointment, and then I’ll drop by the market and get some groceries. I want to try that new recipe this weekend. I mean, I might do it with chicken instead of beef. Yeah, I think I’ll do that.

And then I want to do some meal prepping. Do I have enough containers? I don’t want to use plastic anymore. I’m moving to glass. I’ll put those on the grocery list too.

Ugh, why am I thinking of all this random bullshit?

I stare up at the ceiling in the dark. I shouldn’t have had that afternoon nap today. It’s 3:00 a.m., and I’ve been wide awake for two hours. Blake is fast asleep beside me. His gentle breathing is a calming sound. Who knew that someone breathing beside you could be comforting?

I roll onto my side and face the wall with my back to him and hear his phone as it vibrates on his side table. I roll over and frown into the darkness.

Who would be texting him at this hour?

I lie back down and close my eyes. What if something’s wrong?

It could be an emergency.

I get up and walk around to his side of the table and pick up his phone. I walk out into the hallway with it so that I don’t wake him up. I go to swipe it on and put in his code, and it rejects it. I put his code in again.

Wrong passcode.

Huh?

I screw up my face in question and put the passcode in again.

Wrong passcode.

That’s weird.

I try it again.

Wrong passcode.

He’s changed his passcode on his phone. Why would he do that?

Hmm.

I make my way downstairs and flick the kettle on as my mind begins to go over the last few weeks. Come to think about it, he has been working late a lot recently ... my stomach rolls as an all-too-familiar feeling falls over me.

Blake’s hiding something.

Two weeks is a long time to feel sick in the stomach.

It’s a long time to feel scared every time he picks up his phone; it’s even longer to have thoughts so dark in your head that you wonder why you even bother.

At first I thought it was in my head, and maybe it is. I hope to god it is.

But Blake’s phone is still locked, which can only mean one thing: he’s messaging someone he doesn’t want me to know about.

I’ll never be that woman who demands to know everything. I’m not jealous; I’m sad, because I thought maybe I’d just gotten a bad egg with the first one.

But maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one that’s not enough.

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