Page 98 of Prove Me Wrong
Spinning to face her, I hold it, like somehow her eyes burnt my skin, searing with pain. I swallow away the gross feeling in my oesophagus, knowing that this might be the only time I can speak with her in private. It’s not exactly how I imagined this to be, but It’ll have to do. “Mum, I need to talk with you.”
Her lips part. Can she sense that I’m going to share something deep with her? Something gut-wrenchingly hard. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”
Eyes shutting, I lower my face, not believing that she just asked me that. She doesn’t know me at all. “No, Mum. I’m not.”
“Good. That’ll just get in the way of your career, and you know how important that is.” The peppiness in her tone makes my spine shiver.
I hate how disconnected I feel from her. Like she can’t see how much I am struggling right now. How hard I have been struggling for years. Butthen again, she spends more of her time working and talking with clients than she does being in the same room as me and Sinnett.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I turn away from her. “I’m going to sleep,” I mumble, no longer in the mood to share my past with her.
“Good. I think you need to sleep off whatever sickness this is. Your brother has a game on Sunday, and we can’t have him out again. He only just returned after his injury.”
Mouth gaping open at her, a flicker of rage comes to life in me, realising once again that my brother’s well-being is more important to her than my own. “No, we wouldn’t want that, would we,” I bite out a little angrier than I wanted, but I don’t care.
Storming out of the bathroom, I run upstairs before Dad can catch me. Mum calls after me, but I slam my door shut, leaning against it. My heart beats rapidly as I fall to the floor. Tears freely flow, and I let myself wallow in the emptiness of my childhood room. This room just reminds me of the girl I used to be, before my life shifted and I became this mess of a human. I hate how I am now. I don’t trust people. I don’t feel useful or loved. And that’s all I’ve wanted all my life, to feel like I am enough.
Pulling out my phone, I open my messages with Noah. It feels like the last connection I have with him. The sweet texts he sent. How he was excited to see me after his race. When I left him his favourite lemon squares when he won.
I sob through a twisted smile, remembering how he made me feel. Noah made me feel like me, and now I don’t think I'll ever be able to feel that way again. I’ll just be this hollowed out person who shakes when men talk to me, and hates large crowds, loud people and busy streets. I want to be that girl again. The one who belonged in Barrenridge, who looked after Jade, and couldn’t wait for her dad to come home.
Swallowing, I click through the photos we sent to each other. The ones of Jade and I watching his race weekends. A photo of the top he bought me. Some of Noah and Jade on the weekends, in the park, their backyard, the general store.
My fingers stop scrolling on one Noah sent me one night. It’s of Jade eating in the kitchen, her face covered in food, smiling through the mess as she holds up her grubby little fingers. But in the reflection of the backsplash, Noah’s bare figure is outlined. His unkempt golden hair, burning green eyes, bulging muscles clearly defined, and a big smile plastered on his gorgeous face.
It brings more tears to my eyes because I want to be there with them again. To be standing in his house, the smell of him infused in the walls and furniture, the airiness of his place that never had me feeling suffocated. I miss it. I miss him.
Sniffing, I go to the next photo of Jade sitting in the living room when Sinnett’s name covers the screen. Wiping my nose, I answer his call, dragging the phone to my ear.
“Hey, twinkle fingers. How was dinner? Sorry I missed it.”
My head shakes as I blink away tears, trying to appear more put together than I feel right now. “It was fine.”
I can tell from the silence that he knows I’m far from okay right now. “Did Mum say something to you?”
“No,” I murmur, pressure building in my throat, and my eyes rim with water once more.
He hums, and I hear his car door slam shut. “Do you want to come to mine tonight? I promise I’ll let you pick our movie.”
I choke out an ugly sob and nod quickly, wanting nothing more than to get out of this place. “Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
“Thank you,” I rasp out before ending the call.
Going into the bathroom, I shower away some of the pain squeezing my chest so tightly like a clamp. Drying off, I look through my bag for some clothes when I see Noah’s grey briefs. I never gave them back to him after I washed them. Pushing down the lump, I slip them on, feeling their comfort once again, even though they barely fit me. I’ve hardly eaten this week, shrinking my already smaller frame, but I don’t want to take them off. Pulling on my trackpants, tee and hoodie, I grab my phone before heading downstairs.
Mum is on a call with someone in her office, her loud tone echoing through the house as I slip on my runners, wanting to get out of here.
“Where are you going?”
I turn to face Dad, who is standing in the doorway of the living room, hands in his pockets. He’s the older version of Sinnett. The same dark hair, slightly bluer eyes, taller, brawnier build. We haven’t been close over the last few years. He’s more focused on Sinnett’s rugby career than anything else, but it pulls on my heartstrings to hear the concern coating his words.
“Sinnett is getting me. He just finished practice.”
He nods once and steps closer, tongue dampening his lips before they smile kindly. “Your mum is just dealing with an annoying client at the moment.”
“I know. Her clients are important to her.”
