Page 35 of Frozen Flames

It’s late by the time I shower and get in bed. That’s when I finally decide to text Gemma, asking about her trip. I smile when she answers me quickly, but it fades when I find out she had a conference all day and then a business dinner.

A dinner with her boss, clearly.

Another thought penetrates my mind with a vengeance, wondering if she just returned to her hotel room… It’s almost midnight in LA!

This time she didn’t land late, this time she purposely chose to go back to her hotel room at an unprofessional hour.

Anger I know all too well forms in my stomach and rises until it reaches my chest, making me feel as though I can’t breathe.

Why do I even care?

I can’t let her new job mess with my head.

It’s already messy and chaotic in there.

The fury keeps surging inside of me. I can’t stop my fingers as I text her back a snarky comment regarding what a dinner that must’ve been.

Imagine if I did that…went to a late dinner with Claire.

Although, I already have. More than once.

But that’s beside the point—she’s my nurse and helps me with therapy.

While Gemma’s boss is a rich fucker. As if I can even compete with that. As if I can compete with a non-disabled man.

The thought sears through my internal scars. They barely have time to close up and heal properly before my mind tears at them again and again.

Over and over.

I’m so sick of this shit.

I’m so sick ofmyshit.

I don’t know what to do, where to go from here.

I don’t know how to be a man worthy of Gemma’s love. The new me barely knows how to be worthy ofmyself.

I’m sweating from the anxiety, my mind in total anguish, feeding off the darkness.

It’s the only thing that always keeps me company, that never leaves me.

I pick up my phone when it vibrates, swallowing, my heart accelerating when I see her reply text.

Gemma:What is that supposed to mean?

I want to roar.

She knows what it means.

My breathing is growing erratic. I hope I’m being completely irrational right now and that nothing is going on between her and her boss.

I wish I could go for a run right now.

Literally run. A mile, perhaps two.

I hold my hands in tight fists by my legs, my nails digging deep into the palms of my hands—anything to feel any other type of pain.

I can’t deal with the emotional mess that my relationship has become.

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