Page 17 of Thorns of Lust
Just like we’d cherish each other. Always.
The memory hurt.You left me, Adrian.His love had gone cold, leaving me alone, intertwining between reality and nightmare. Or maybe it was just one and the same.
Another crack in my heart. A lump in my throat. The unbearable suffocating feeling in my chest.
Walking back to where Isabella and Aurora still struggled with the tree, I lowered little Kostya down next to his little cousin. Then without a word, I headed for the master bathroom. Grabbing a bottle of vodka and a glass as I passed the mini bar, I rushed through the bedroom, signs of Adrian still everywhere. My designer outfits lay scattered all over the bed and floor, leading into my walk-in closet, which looked even worse.
The usual order and luxury was overtaken by grief.
Ignoring it all, I stepped into the bathroom. The moment the door shut behind me, my back rested against the door and a sob escaped me. My hand pressed against my mouth to muffle the sound, and I slid down until I found myself on the cold marble tile.
A shuddering breath mixed with my sobs. Loneliness swallowed me, pulling me into darkness and I had no way of getting out of it.
Don’t you fucking give up.A deep voice whispered. It wasn’t Adrian’s voice. Whose was it?Tatiana, give me your hand.
My heart screamed. My soul bled. The weight pressed on my chest. The silence was too heavy and too thick, stealing my oxygen.
I craved the numbness. Needed oblivion. This was too much to bear.
A soft knock on the door.
“Tatiana.” I startled as Isabella’s soft voice came through.
“I’ll be out in a moment,” I said, my voice cracking. Each word felt like raw sandpaper scratching against my throat. I couldn’t breathe, the walls were closing in on me and threatening to smother me.
Isabella pushed the handle down, cracking the door open and leaving me no choice but to shift around so she could enter. Isabella might be soft, but she was stubborn as fuck. You’d have to be to survive my eldest brother.
Once inside, she lowered herself down, taking a seat on the marble next to me. She wore simple jeans and a baggy white t-shirt. Her dark hair bounced with life, making me even more aware of the pitiful state I was in.
Her hands wrapped around me and turned me around to face her. My best friend. My brother’s wife. She had everything. A husband who’d give her anything and everything. Children who love her. Happiness, love, family.
I had nothing.
My best friend and I have been through a lot. Four wild college years. Her miscarriage. Her pain. My rebellion. We were sisters more than friends. I loved her. She loved me. But right now, I couldn’t handle being around her.
It fucking hurt to see everything I’d never have - a loving husband, children, a warm home. A family.
I loved her, I really did. But bitterness slithered through my veins, right alongside the alcohol, like poison. It suffocated, slowly like a pillow smothering your face. You hoped for death, but instead, the cruel destiny eased up and let you breathe. Just so you could suffer more.
That was how I felt. Day in and day out.
“God, Tatiana,” she murmured softly. “I hate seeing you like this.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, reaching for the bottle and taking a gulp. A glass wasn’t enough to wash down this bitterness. The vodka burned my throat, dulling my senses.
“Vasili is worried,” she rasped. I lowered my eyes, suddenly interested in the creases in my clothes. They were a mess.
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
“You’re not fine,” she murmured, keeping her tone low. “We keep waiting for you to come to terms with Adrian’s death. But you’re getting worse. It’s been two months since his death. We don’t expect you to be your old self but by now you should at least be doing a bit better.” I remained silent, my eyes darting back to the bottle of vodka. I needed one more drink. Just one more and nothing would matter. I’d survive another day. “I know what you’re going through–”
“No, you don’t,” I cut her off, sharper than I intended. Hurt flashed in her eyes and I attempted to temper the sharpness of my voice. “You still have your husband. Even if he died, you have your children to help you carry on. I have nothing. Fucking nothing.”
She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it. The pain in her eyes told me I had said something wrong. I had hurt her. Yet, I said nothing. I was sorry; I really was. But my lips refused to move.
“Tell me how to help you then,” she whispered, taking my hand in hers.
“I’m fine,” I answered automatically again. “I don’t need any help.”
