Page 99 of A Love That Broke Us
Fuck me.
I feel like I’m going to die. My insides might actually explode.
I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw as a sharp pain rips through my core, twisting hot and tight inside my stomach.
“Gah! Fuck.” The words scrape out of me, my voice strained.
I have to get through this. I have to get off these fucking pills. Alley still doesn’t know, but it’s only a matter of time. I’m a ticking time bomb. A goddamn terrorist in my own house, keeping secrets from my wife. Waiting to be discovered at any moment.
The last pill I took was Friday night. It’s Sunday morning. If I can survive this weekend, I’ll go into tomorrow’s workday pill-free, pain be damned.
Yesterday, I was anxious as hell. I couldn’t sit still. I was tired and restless. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, and I was sweating like a guilty bastard who just fucked the preacher’s daughter.
Then came the argument. It was so stupid. I left my breakfast plate on the coffee table, and all Alley did was askme to take it to the dishwasher. She asked nicely. It’s something I’d normally do. But my body was already screaming, and her request just set me off. You’d think she asked me to climb a goddamn mountain.
I snapped.
I grabbed the plate and chucked it into the dishwasher, muttering under my breath about what a stupid fucking ask it was. Then I asked her why she couldn’t just do this one thing for me when I felt like shit. I stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind me.
God, I’m such an asshole.
Rolling onto my back, I scrub a hand over my face.Jesus.I don’t deserve her.
That’s why I’m powering through this. I’m gonna do it. Ihaveto, for her.
This year’s been a slippery fucking slope. Not long after New Year’s, my two-a-day turned into three.
I need three pills just to feel normal. They don’t even make me feel good anymore. Three just get me to baseline—a shitty one at that. They work better than anything else, though, and I’m only taking them to manage the pain. But still, I don’t want to be on them.
Alley would lose her shit if she knew. She already suspects something. The arguments have become a weekly routine. I feel like she’s always on my ass, always nagging. I know that’s not fair. She’s not. But Jesus, I’m just trying to survive the day. I have to provide, keep this life that we have together.
It’s the pills. I know it is—because the second they wear off, I’m a fucking animal. Like a bear that’s been poked too many times behind a cage. One wrong word and I snap.
I apologized later when she came into the room. I told her I didn’t feel good, that it was the stomach flu or something similar. Of course she believed me. She was understanding. She even kissed my forehead and told me she loved me.
She’s been waiting on me hand and foot since then. Made me soup yesterday. Rubbed my shoulders. Even laughed at my stupid joke when I was curled up on the couch like a fucking gremlin. She’s taking care of me like I deserve it.
But I don’t.
The door creaks open, and the voice of an angel drags me from my misery. “Hey,” she says, her footsteps drawing closer. The bed dips as she sits beside me, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. I’m too ashamed.
“How you doing?” Her fingers rake gently through my damp hair. “Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head as nausea rises, unexpected and fast. My stomach clenches, and bile surges up my throat, hurling me forward. Gripping the bowl beside me, I dry heave until splashes of yellow hit the bottom. Acid scorches on the way up, molten lava weaving through my gut, heat penetrating every nerve ending.
I clamp up, sweat beading down my forehead, my hair drenched. Alley rubs my leg—and it’s sweet, thoughtful. I know she means well, but her touch feels like nails on a chalkboard against the tornado of hell thrashing inside me.
I try to air out my shirt, peeling the sticky fabric from my skin. It’s soaked. I yank it off, tossing it to the floor. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I push the bowl to the side, too weak to deal with it. Alley takes it, placing it gently on the nightstand.
I collapse back onto the pillow, chills setting in now, rattling through me. My bones ache. Every nerve feels like it’s being sawed through with a dull blade.
It’s pure fucking torture.
“I’m so hot, but so fucking cold at the same time,” I mutter, my teeth chattering as I pull the comforter up to my chin.
Alley presses her wrist to my forehead, frowning. “That’s weird, you don’t feel hot. You’re having chills?” Her gaze shifts to the bowl—foamy, yellow bile—and I see it in her face. She knows something doesn’t add up.
Her hand falls to my shoulder, her thumb brushing gently.
