Page 107 of Insincerely Yours
An ugly beat.
“He did,” the other woman finally whispers, “but her mother requested she stay overnight for further observation.”
Another beat.
I dare to open one eye just enough to see the nurse standing in the doorway.
She looks around the room, no doubt taking in my complete lack of company.
The other woman doesn’t need to spell it out. The expression on the second nurse’s face says it all.
The reason why my sister hasn’t even called me is because she’s performing right now in some Stravinsky ballet.
And it appears neither Dad nor Blythe wanted to miss her opening night. Not by having to stay with me in the hospital, and certainly not by having to stay home to actually take care of me…
I can’t hold it in any longer.
The instant the nurses exit my room, I turn onto my side, bury my face into the pillow, and sob. It causes the pain in my head to spike, feeling like my brain may very well explode from the pressure, but I don’t care. I can’t stop crying, even as black spots invade my vision.
CHAPTER 25
I SEE RED
PRESENT
I don’t sleep.Minute after minute, hour after hour, all I can do is stare at the inside of my eyelids as I flop about on my mattress.
Why on earth did I let that happen with Jase?I try to think about literally anything other than his fingers inside of me, but it’s no use. I know it was stupid. I know I should have told him no. I know I should have walked away. But I, being the momentarily overconfident idiot I was, thought I could get the upper hand. I thought I could prove to both himandmyself that he didn’t have an effect on me. Not anymore.
And look how well that’s worked out for me. I’m now a prisoner inside of my room, even after the sun rises. I consider going on a run…until I hear footsteps in the hallway. Is it Jase? What would I say to him?WouldI have to say anything? For all I know, what happened last night could just be like any other evening out for him. I could be nothing more to him than another woman on his infinity roster of hookups. I know I shouldn’t care, but the last part leaves me physically nauseated, which is precisely why I refuse to get up. Not even to use the bathroom or shower.
By the sounds of it, everybody else has a packed morning. I, however, have the day off, so I’m not in any hurry to leave my bed, regardless of the whole Jase situation. In the silence, it’s impossible not to listen to the garage door going up and down multiple times, and by eight o’clock, I’m relieved to hear the roar of Jase’s motorcycle as it takes off down the street. I officially have the house to myself.
When I finally pull myself out of bed and pad my way to the bathroom, I go through my morning routine with bleary vision and utter detachment. Sleep deprivation leaves my eyes dry, enough so that they feel like they’re being burned out of my skull when I put in my contact lenses. They tear up so badly that any attempt to put on eye makeup leaves everything black and smudged until I have a proper set of raccoon eyes.
Surrendering for the moment, I toss aside my mascara wand and wipe everything off before heading downstairs. All I can do now is hope the burning and involuntary crying will stop by the time I finish breakfast so I can reapply the makeup. Since I didn’t get to have my bacon yesterday, I blindly make my way into the kitchen towards the refrigerator.
I’m about to open the door when I see movement out of the corner of my watery eye.
What the fuck?
The statement is all my brain can process, because I blink away my fatigue and tears to find Patrick Bouchard slinking in through the back door!
Again, what the fuck?
Instinct kicks in before any actual, coherent thought can form, and the asshole repeats my statement out loud, looking as equally horrified at the sight of me as I am with him.Hisreaction, however, may have something to do with the chef’s knife I just pulled out of the countertop holder, now wielding it at him.
Patrick makes it as far as the kitchen table before he notices me, leaving him to bump and even trip over one of the chairs as he stumbles backward.
“What are you doing here?”High five to me for not just screaming bloody murder. I may be yelling, but by some miracle, I sound far more angry than scared.
He holds up his hands, as if to placate me. “No one was supposed to be here.”
He says this like that should explain everything, like it’s not illegal to simply enter someone’s home so long as it’s unoccupied.
But how did he get in? My family is generally good about locking the doors and windows when they leave.
Unless Jase did it.
