Page 12 of The Price We Pay For Love

The nightmare is a stark reminder of my reality. I can’t give her what she needs. I won’t leave her behind to face the devastation and chaos that death brings.

Scooting to the side of the bed to avoid waking her, my hands grip the ends of my hair as worry and anxiety kick in. What did I do? I should never have opened myself up to her like that. Now I have to walk away and she’s going to be hurt. And angry.

Good, maybe it’s better this way. At least then when I do have to leave she won’t be bothered by it.

An image from my nightmares infiltrates my waking thoughts—her crying and being comforted by another man. It makes my blood boil and my conscious rest easy at the same time.

My breathing quickens and the telltale tingles start to shoot up and down my arm. I slide off the bed, grab my clothes from the floor, and head into the living room, closing the door behind me. Quickly pulling my boxers and trousers on, I slump onto thesofa. The tightness in my chest is suffocating but I force myself to take huge gulps of air into my lungs. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fighting with my body like this. Sooner or later I’m going to give in.

Once the panic starts to settle and the weight on my chest subsides, I rub at my temples and take a few last deep breaths. I stand up and pace the length of her living room. What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t just disappear into the night. Lola will kill me.

As I’m pacing, the photo of us at the bonfire catches my eye. We look so happy and in love. I wish everything was as simple as it was back then. But it’s not. Back then, I didn’t have the superior knowledge of what it felt like to watch your life crash before your very eyes, completely out of your control. Now I do. And I won’t inflict that on anyone.

I throw my shirt on and do a couple of buttons up, hastily chucking my jacket on top. One more glance at the picture has me longingly stroking the frame. I snatch my phone from my pocket and quickly take a picture of it before walking out the front door knowing that I’ve finally done what I’ve tried to do for the past few years. Make Phoebe hate me enough to never want to see me again.

CHAPTER TEN

Phoebe

The noise from the outside world waking up around me rouses me from my sleep. The birds chirping loudly outside my window force a smile onto my lips before I’ve even opened my eyes. I reach out to hug Freddie and snuggle with him like I’ve wanted to do in the mornings for years, and touch nothing but mattress.

Opening my eyes and flicking the hair from my face, I squint against the light and, once my eyes have adjusted to the brightness, scan around the room. There’s no sign of him. His clothes are gone and there’s no sound of him being in the bathroom. Surely he wouldn’t do this, would he?

I reach over to my night stand and grab my phone. No notifications. No missed calls, no text messages, nothing. Maybe he’s in the kitchen making us coffee. Or maybe he’s fucked off after regretting our night together.

Sitting upright, I scrub my face with my hands trying to clear the last bit of foggy sleepiness. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I stomp over to my dresser and grab a hair band. I scuffmy hair into a messy high pony and grab my robe from the chair. Before I jump to conclusions, I need to see if what I already think is actually true.

A sense of dread swarms through my stomach and I clutch my phone in my hand like it’s an anchor, keeping me from drifting into complete rage or panic. I swallow the nerves and blow out a deep breath as I head into my kitchen.

Silence.

The nothingness I’m so used to echoes with my own stupidity and I clutch at desperate straws in my head.He got called away because of the restaurant. Or maybe Carol is sick. No, it’s definitely the restaurant. He’d have woken me if it was to do with the girls. Has to be the restaurant and he didn’t text me because he wanted me to sleep. Yep, that’s it. He didn’t want to disturb me.

As far fetched as it is, I cling onto it with everything I have. Bringing my phone to life, I type out a quick text to him, hoping above all else that my straws are the truthful kind.

Me:Hey, Fred. I hope you’re okay? If you’re freaking out, talk to me. We used to be really good at that. X

Seeing as I’m standing in my kitchen and the coffee machine is right next to me, I pop a pod into it and wait for my phone to notify me of a text. What’s that saying, a watched pot never boils?

I slam the phone on the counter, grab a box of cereal from above the fridge and dig my hand inside. I shove a handful of the little hoops into my mouth and try to distract myself. Maybe I should call Lola? I reach for my phone and then snatch my hand away again. No, after all she had to drink last night, she won’t even be able to tell me her own name let alone give me good advice.

The coffee machine dings to let me know my cup is ready and I place it next to the phone. My eyes slide between them bothand I force myself to fixate on the coffee instead of the blank screen. The sweet nectar of the gods will fix everything.

I sigh in happiness as the flavour of caramel balancing out the bitterness of the coffee dances on my taste buds. Another sip and I’m starting to feel calmer. I shovel another handful of cereal in my mouth and look at the black screen again. I wonder if Ivy is awake?

Again I scold myself. I can’t call Ivy. She was called into work last night in an emergency so god knows if she's even been to sleep yet. So I’m stuck in limbo, waiting. And I hate waiting. I’m not a patient person.

My phone rings out in the silent kitchen and I jump, jerking my hand out of the box of cereal and spilling it all over the floor. “Bloody phone.” I curse loudly and force myself to grab the dustpan and brush to clean the mess up before looking to see who was texting me.

Once everything is clear, I take a deep breath and pick my phone up. What I read makes my blood boil and my breath whoosh out of me so fast I have to grab a chair to sit down. I drop the phone on the table and reread the message because he couldn’t possibly have sent what I think I read.

Freddie:Are you on birth control?

And that is exactly what I read. Is he fucking kidding me right now? After what we finally experienced together, after all these years of knowing him like the back of my hand, he’s asking me a question like this? Shock is replaced by anger as I scoop my phone up, my hands shaking as I reply.

Me:Shouldn’t you have asked me this last night?

Freddie:I’m asking you now.

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