Page 28 of Nico
She had left several items of clothing in his closet. Underwear in his drawer, a toothbrush, a few makeup items and a perfume bottle with her signature scent. He should take them to her. No, he shook his head as he reached for a black silk robe and held it up to his face. He would keep them as a reminder of what he had given up.
And that was exactly what he had done. He had let her go from his life. But he had to, didn't he? He mused as he chugged from the bottle. He didn't have a choice. She could have said something. He had asked her for time. She could have said she would wait while he sorted this thing out.
She could have also said she was willing to be part of his daughter's life, right? He drank again to dull the pain. He should work, yes, paint something, work on the bust, occupy his mind.
It took an hour and the empty bottle to have him crashing. Pulling himself up on the pillows, he cradled her robe and dropped like a stone.
*****
Some cruel and heartless bastard was drilling holes into his temple. And there was a fire burning his face to a crisp. He was dying. His chest was curdled, and he was going to be sick. Afterwards, he would die, that was the end of it. Prying his eyelids open, he blinked and almost screamed as the sunlight speared into his eyes. Someone was standing by his bed, but he was blind or was he? If he was blind, how could he see the blurry figure at his bedside?
"Nico." The figure shoved at his shoulder and sent pain piercing his skull.
"Stop that." Was that his voice? It sounded hoarse and rusty.
"I made you some coffee. We've been calling you since this morning."
"Go away."
Lurching out of bed, he stumbled, but made a mad dash to the bathroom, just in time. Dropping to his knees, he puked until he swore his stomach lining was all gone. Plopping on the floor, he leaned his head back and prayed for death. His stomach was raw, and he was sure it was bleeding. His head throbbed like a rotten tooth, and his body was clammy with sweat.
"Here." His sister shoved a steaming mug of coffee into his hand. "I'll make you some hair of the dog."
"I don't..."
"Just shut the hell up and drink the coffee."
He glanced up at her, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with exhaustion. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. Finally, he took a tentative sip, the bitter coffee scalding his tongue but bringing a sliver of clarity to his foggy brain. His sister watched him, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between concern and annoyance.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head, wincing at the fresh wave of pain that lanced through his skull. "Maybe later," he muttered, clutching the mug as if it were a lifeline. The aroma drifted up, mingling with the lingering scent of her perfume that still haunted the room. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth seep through his hands, and tried not to think about all that he had lost.
"Your daughter is asking for you."
"I cannot see her, not now."
Nadine tamped down the impatience and reminded herself that he was suffering. She had seen the robe he was clutching when she came into the room and suspected that he had ended things with Sadie.
"She's asking for you darling." She crouched down and laid a hand on his arm. "She needs her daddy. She had a restless night and cried herself to sleep. Look, I know you're suffering..."
"Do you?" He smiled mirthlessly. "Are you going to tell me how much you understand what I'm going through? Because it would be a lie."
"Now." She acknowledged quietly. "I don't know what you're going through. But there's a little girl who needs you. Surely you can look past the breakup and be her dad. You have to."
Draining the cup, he handed it to her and stumbled to his feet.
"Unless you want to see your brother buck naked, I suggest you get the hell out of here. I'm going to take a shower."
She left, slamming the door shut behind her. For a minute, he stood there swaying on his feet before dragging himself to the shower. His sister was right; he was going to have to pull himself together.
*****
Revlon should be lauded. No, she shook her head as she stared at herself in the mirror. It was some pricey brand from Romano's "guaranteed to hide the lines of hard living". And it worked. When she was finished with her face, there were no signs of the crying jag she had allowed herself last night.
But that was done now. She was strong and resilient and would get by. It didn't matter that her heart was shattered. She couldpatch it up and go on living. He was gone from her life, but she was alive, wasn't she?
Rising, she went to get her cashmere jacket and put it on over the winter black sweater and slacks she had chosen to wear to the gallery. No one would know that her life had crumbled. In between the crying jag, she had wondered what she could have done differently.
