Page 96 of The Billionaire

25

“I don’t…I don’t understand, McKenzie, why are you acting like…did you receive my gifts every day?” He reached out for me but all I could do was back into my entry room. He let himself in.

I wrapped my arms around myself as a protective barrier.

“What is wrong with you?” He shut the door behind him and locked it. I couldn’t help but to feel a sudden creepy chill on my arms. I mean, she had died. What if she had made him mad or something? What if…

Then I saw his face.

Half of our living room was covered with boxes that were left unopened.

“I see you’re picking and choosing?”

“Shelly has an afinity for liking…no…needing luxurious items in her life.”

“But they were for you.”

He walked closer to me, and I was filled with so much emotion. Most of all fear. Anger. And jealousy.

“Come here….” He reached for me. I melted into him, giving into his power over me. I took him in. His smell. Everything. I could hear and feel his beating heart pounding in my ear as my face pressed against his chest.

“You were all I thought about. Day and night. Get dressed. I want to take you out.”

I took a step back with tears in my eyes.

“What is it, baby?”

All I could do was walk away and sit down on the couch. There on the coffee table were print outs of articles I found online…I had gotten a little carried away with the evidence and looked like a mad detective woman in cave linking plots and twists. Suddenly, I felt sheepish and stupid as I saw the light drain form his gorgeous tanned face and his smiled tightened as tight as a zipper. He briskly walked over to the table and flipped through the pages. I could feel his rage. Feel his energy. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so safe. I felt…scared, angry, sorry I ever looked into it.

He threw papers down, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck!” He shouted as he stomped the heel of his loafer on the wood floor. “Fuck…fuck…! Why? Why are you looking into this like this?”

His anger was rising, his voice raising.

“I….”

“Charlotte was a drug addict. She was my girlfriend, yes. I already told you in Maui there was a past about me that I wasn’t proud about. Remember that? Do you? When I lost my dad, I lost myself. Especially when I could never get him back again. I started experimenting with a few drugs … and call me crazy, but I felt like I saw…heard him. With me. Shit….” He stomped his loafer once more, releasing his obvious frustration and angry steaming teakettle.

“Charlotte died in my bed. Alone. I was already getting help at this point but turns out she was addicted to not only drugs, but to me, as well. My lifestyle. What was I supposed to do when she showed up at might house drunk, high, and in tears because I broke it off with her? How could I let her walk out like that into the public eye? Call me crazy, but I’m actually a caring human being. But of course the fucking press isn’t going to print any of this side of the story. They aren’t going to print shit of my side because drama sells. Negativity sells! It’s fucking lies. Bullshit! I having FUCKING proof I wasn’t in the room with her when she died. I was in the guest room and my own sister was there, too.”

His hands were shaking.

“I found her in the morning. Dead. In my bed. Yes, she was naked. Dead. And I had nothing to do with hit. Nothing. Damn it.” He picked up a vase of flowers and threw it crashing to the ground. “And I’ll be damned if I have to get on another witness stand defending my own character and who I am. I told you I’m not that twenty-one-year-old fucking guy anymore!”

And with that he was gone. Door slammed.

And I was left on the couch shaking at what I had just heard.

Trembling.

Oh. Fuck.

I could barely focus in biochemistry and this was not good. Not at all. Especially since that subject is my weakest link. I would have to make up for it by studying every spare moment. It was practically like learning a new language with all of the new vocabulary. Normally, my memory works excellently, and I’m able to go over information a few times and have the new information stored in my memory. I’m not photographic, no, but I was excellent at learning quickly. But ever since this major stress of fighting with Kyle and his explosive reaction, and my efforts to reach out to him going unreciprocated, he was all I could think about day and night. I couldn’t shake my awful feelings of being sick to my stomach.

I couldn’t shake how strange I felt from all this stress. Never one to be prone to stomach ulcers….I sure felt one coming along. And it did not feel good. At all.

I opened my textbook for Clinical Anatomy where we were to discuss the abdomen and the gastrointestinal tract. The colors. The shapes. My insides. Staring at the pictures in the book made my stomach rumble, and I could practically smell the acidic nature of the juices. Ugh. The insides truly are disgusting.

It didn’t look so good…I quickly shut my book and I let out a small sigh and scribbled useless symbols on my notepad. What was wrong with me? I really needed to get a grip. I could have sworn I heard my name, but whatever. I went back to scribbling.

---