Page 93 of The Bad Wedding Date

That was all it had taken for me to snap out of my sex-induced coma and pull back, just for a minute.

You know where he’s going next.

Mum.

The woman who’d raised me, suffered for me, and silenced her own voice for me. She deserved everything I had, and I wasn’t giving it to her, all because I couldn’t stop thinking with my dick.

I pulled the phone holder in my car around, and I hit up the one number I hadn’t called in over a week.

It rang several times before Mum’s frail voice floated through from the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I said, quiet, subdued. Silence met me. “It’s me.”

“I know.”

“You’re mad at me.”

“Am I?”

“I think so.”

“Worried. Not mad.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called for a week. Things have been… strange.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Everything’s fine.”

“You hate the word fine.”

She had a point. I did hate the word fine. It was overused and under-questioned. Fine had become acceptable for people to use and for others to walk away from, when to me, fine was something a person said when they secretly needed you to know they were struggling like shit.

“Sometimes it fits the moment,” I offered.

“You sound different.”

Another beat of silence. One I usually let sit comfortably between us, but tonight the weight of the judgement felt heavy inside that silence, and I couldn’t bear it—couldn’t bear for her to think that something was wrong or that she could be in danger.

“Just tired,” I added, hoping that would be enough.

My eyes rose to Charlotte’s window, wishing I could knock on her door and invite myself in. Knowing that if I did, she’d no doubt let me stay, and the two of us could spend another night wrapped around each other, avoiding reality. Avoiding life.

“You’re working too hard,” Mum said. “You mustn’t…”

“Mum, let’s not—”

“You’ll end up dead, Fraser, and then what?”

Keira Scott had this frightening ability to keep her voice small no matter her emotions, and that terrified me more than it would if she screamed or shouted. But that… that statement she made… it told me everything I needed to know about what state of mind she was in that night. Her anxiety had control of her, and nothing I would or could say could stop her train of thought from running away with her.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered.

“You won’t lose me.”

“But these things you do. These challenges you face. These demons you try to fight for everyone…”

---