Page 11 of If He Hadn't Cheated
I take a shaky breath.
“Not your place? You watched me plan a wedding while he was screwing someone else, and it wasn’t your place?”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. The silence between us says it all. Betrayal doesn’t need to scream. Sometimes it just sits there, quiet and cold.
Sebastian reaches into his coat pocket. Pulls out a folded piece of paper. A note. A letter. Something pathetic.
I don’t take it. I reach for my ring instead I swiped from the nightstand and hurl it at his chest.
It hits with a dull clink, then bounces to the floor.
“Get out,” I say.
“Lana…”
“Get. Out.” My voice cracks. The tears finally arrive, hot and fast, and I can’t stop them.
Sebastian hesitates like he might try again, but Knox steps in. He grabs Sebastian’s arm and turns him toward the hall. No struggle. Before he goes, Knox looks back. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches me fall apart.
Then the door closes.
And I collapse. My knees hit the floor. My chest caves in. Everything I’ve been holding back pours out of me like a storm. I cry until I can’t breathe. Until I can’t think. Until my voice is gone. The ring glints by the doorway like a curse.
I crawl to the kitchen. I grab the wine from the counter and pour myself a glass with shaking hands. It’s not even noon.
But I don’t care.
The taste is bitter. Sharp. I drink it anyway.
My phone buzzes again.
Another text.
Sebastian: I’m sorry.
I delete it without reading the rest. My reflection stares at me from the dark screen. Eyes hollow. Mouth a line of rage.
This is how it starts. The quiet kind of dying you mistake for healing.
And for the first time, I stop caring if I ever come back.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
I just remember waking up on the floor, cold and twisted like a crumpled piece of paper someone meant to throw away. My mouth is dry, and my head pounds with the dull, persistent throb of dehydration and hangover and unspoken truths. There’s a wine glass on the carpet, tipped on its side. A dark stain blooms across the rug like a shadow that refuses to fade.
Sunlight sneaks through the blinds, soft and accusing. The kind of light that makes you see everything you’ve been avoiding. The mirror across the room shows my reflection in broken fragments: pale skin, tangled hair, mascara smeared under hollow eyes.
My stomach lurches. I crawl to the bathroom and vomit until my ribs hurt. I sit on the cold tile afterward, forehead against the wall, breath catching in my throat.
This is how it feels to hit rock bottom, I think.
But then I remember last night wasn’t even the worst part. That came earlier, with Sebastian and the ring and the tears I can’t stop replaying.
I drag myself into the shower. Hot water. Scalding. I want it to burn. I want it to scrape the memory of him off my skin. I want to feel clean, even if just for five seconds.
It doesn’t work.
6
