Page 14 of Entwined
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, but I didn’t have the energy to reach for it. I couldn’t talk to anyone, couldn’t bear the thought of pretending that everything was okay when it was anything but. I was drowning in my own misery, and I didn’t want to be pulled out of it—not yet.
The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me as I tried to catch my breath. I stood up, my legs shaky, and made my way tothe kitchen, hoping that maybe a glass of water would help. But when I opened the cupboard, I found myself staring blankly at the shelves, unable to even muster the will to grab a glass. My hands trembled as I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the empty house.
I leaned against the counter, my head spinning as nausea washed over me. It wasn’t just physical—though that was bad enough—it was the guilt, the unbearable weight of what I had done. I felt like I was being crushed from the inside out, like I would never be able to breathe freely again.
I stumbled back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch once more. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me, trying to ward off the chill that had settled into my bones. My body felt cold, despite the warmth of the room, as if the life that had once been inside me had taken all the heat with it.
My mind kept drifting back to Colson. Unaware that the child we had dreamed of was gone, that our future had been erased with a single decision. I knew I had done what was necessary, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
I closed my eyes, but the tears still seeped through, dampening the blanket beneath my cheek. I couldn’t stop thinking about the life that would never be, the future that had been stolen from us both. The guilt was suffocating, an iron grip around my throat that refused to let me go.
I had to tell him eventually. But how could I? How could I look him in the eye and tell him that his legacy, the child we had created together, was gone? The words stuck in my throat, choked by the overwhelming sorrow that threatened to consume me.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, lost in the storm of my own grief. Time seemed to stretch on, each minute an eternity of pain and regret. All I wanted was to escape, to forget everything that had happened today, but I knew that was impossible. The memory of it would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, my dreams filled with images of what could have been. But even in sleep, I couldn’t escape the guilt, the unbearable sense of loss that had settled deep in my soul.
When I woke hours later, the room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. The house was still silent, Colson asleep upstairs, blissfully unaware of the truth that was tearing me apart.
I sat up, my head pounding, and tried to gather the strength to move. But the weight of what I had done was too much to bear, and I found myself sinking back onto the couch, my body heavy with exhaustion.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, as if it could somehow shield me from the reality of what had happened. But no amount of warmth could ease the cold that had settled into my bones, the deep, aching emptiness that now filled the space where our child had once been.
The tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable, and I let them fall, soaking into the blanket as I cried for everything we had lost. For the child that would never be born, for the future that had been stolen from us, and for the guilt that I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I woke to the sound of my name being whispered, and when I opened my eyes, the light stung as it poured into the room. Easton was sitting on the edge of the couch, his face lined with concern.
"Joey?" he repeated softly.
I blinked, disoriented. "Oh God, I fell asleep. What time is it?"
"Close to midnight," he replied, his voice low. "Dad woke up and was wondering where you were."
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Is he still awake?"
Easton shook his head. "No. He doesn't stay awake for long anymore."
I nodded, biting my lip as I reached out, gripping his arm for support. "It won't be long," I whispered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
He sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of unresolved feelings. "You know, there was a time I really hated him. It was after Mom died."
"I know," I said, my voice barely audible. "I remember."
His gaze drifted, lost in the memories we shared. "But now... I don't want to lose him. I'd rather hate him alive than mourn him dead."
His words cut through me, a sharp reminder of the fragile line between love and hate, especially with someone like Colson. I swallowed hard, searching his eyes.
"Do you still hate him?"
Easton’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was a flash of something unreadable. "Do you?"
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion flaring up. "Did you talk to Vaughn?"
He hesitated, wetting his lips as if the words were too heavy. "He said my father told you everything."
Not everything.
"He did," I replied, my voice betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.
