Page 41 of Craving Oblivion

She didn’t blink, seeming mesmerized by me.

The tea kettle whistled. Aya busied herself with pouring the water into the pot. I had the whole setup, the same one she’d used in the photo of the drawing room when she and Lord Dickhead were photographed as the next Harry and Meghan.

“I didn’t tell you that to upset you,” I said. “I told you because I’m still processing what being an addict meant—means to me. I used to keep the sexual cravings at bay. I used to keep from feeling the pain of you leaving, of my mother’s and Brad’s rejection. I had lots of reasons, and all of them together made me a druggie.” I shook my head. “I was a fucking mess. I let myself become that mess because I didn’t know how to handle all the bad shit that happened.”

Her look held a helpless frustration I understood—I’d lived it for years.

“Look, I know we need to discuss the years apart more, but can we table that for the moment?”

Relief flooded her eyes, softening her features. “Of course.”

My guts churned, because even so, I knew eventually I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. She poured me a cup of tea, then one for herself, and I was transported back to her mother’s kitchen—the faint scent of harissa or chicken fricassee. Those aromas wouldn’t have worked together elsewhere, but in the Didri household—a mix of North African and French—the scents blended, giving the place a homey feel. I’d loved it there.

I stared down at the tea, watching steam curl upward. A faint hint of cinnamon teased my nostrils.

“I’d give just about anything to go back,” I blurted. I raised my gaze, meeting Aya’s troubled one. “Anything but this moment, because even though you’re pissed off, hurt, and confused, and I’m scared out of my mind that I’ll lose you again, I need you to know I’m working hard to be strong enough to fight for us—like you deserve.”

20

Aya

His words hit me square in the solar plexus, sending reverberations through my chest. I studied his face for the sincerity so evident in his voice. He seemed tired but also...not lighter; that was the wrong word. Maybe relieved. Like he’d been carrying a weight, and now he’d managed to share its burden.

I wrapped my trembling fingers around my teacup—as if I hadn’t realized it was the same from that photo—the sneaky, caring heartbreaker.

And that’s what our relationship boiled down to.

I settled back in the chair, my fingers warmed by the delicate porcelain, and met his gaze. “I want to believe you. I do. I want to believe we can do this.”

His long lashes fluttered down, hugging those chiseled cheekbones. I’d seen pictures of Lev, of course, but it was Nash who’d been blessed with the best of his parents’ features—and the worst of their demons. Well, actually, I didn’t know who Nash’s biological father was, so maybe he looked like that man.

I sucked in a breath. “When I went to that party to tell you my mum was gone, I expected you to hold me. I really needed you to hold me…”

This talk was so long overdue. I’d hoped to never have it, but by forcing down my emotions, I’d held myself back, rendering me unable to move forward with Alistair, with life.

A rough sound came from Nash’s throat. I looked up, shocked by the tears rolling down his cheeks.

I placed my hands on the table, palms slick, and shoved back.

“I know you’re sorry, Nash. I understand now that you’d just been through your own nightmare, and that what happened wasn’t even your fault. But that night gutted me.”

He made no move to wipe his face, and a tear dripped down his chin onto his shirt and the table.

“That’s why I said what I did in the coffee shop,” I explained. “I wanted you to feel like I did. Hurt like me.”

“I did. Hurt, I mean.”

“And so did I,” I whispered. “Maybe more than before. I…I hated myself for what I did to you that day.”

“Fuck, Aya. I don’t know what to say,” he rasped.

I closed my eyes. They were scratchy, and they ached. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we don’t know how to talk anymore.”

He made a deep, pained sound, but I didn’t open my eyes. Exhaustion slammed into me—not just physical, but emotional. I’d used up all my reserves to get to this point. Now I wanted to sleep. I craved the oblivion, at least for a few hours. Until my heart didn’t hurt this much. There was so much work to do. The way forward seemed so difficult.

“Maybe we shouldn’t try,” I said.

“Is that what you want?” he whispered. He sounded tortured.

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