Page 104 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
I rush over to him, push him hard, he stumbles.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask, completely bewildered.
“It’s fine,” Phoebe sniffs, back glued to the wall, face red and blotchy. “It’s okay, Arthur.”
“It’s fucking far from fine!” I shout, waving at the mess all over the bathroom.
Digby ignores me, turns back to Phoebe, breathes slowly, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“Tell me the truth, did you sleep with him?” He asks it so calmly, so softly that it’s hard to believe he was just destroying her things.
Her watery eyes lock on mine for a brief second—is she going to tell him?
I don’t shake my head or nod or give her any indication on what to tell him.
The silence is suffocating.
“No,” Phoebe whispers with a small shake of her head.
The three of us still for a second and I think it’s over, he’ll go, leave her alone and we can all go back to normal.
But the stillness is quickly struck when Digby turns around, puts his fist through the mirror.
“You lying bitch!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, glass falling all over the counter and to the floor—and it happens so quickly that none of us register what happened until he rushes over to Phoebe cradling her hand.
“Get away from me!” She shouts, tears streaming down her face. “Now! Get out, Digby.”
I’m stock still.
She turns her back to us, still cradling her hand.
Digby brushes past me on his way out and I wonder if I should leave as well because didn’t I do the exact same thing to her?
I remember it, that night in her bathroom when she flushed the coke down the toilet. I’ve never forgotten that night, even on the nights after that when I didn’t even know what day of the week it was. I still saw it—the flinch, the blood, the tears, the way she went to go to me first before anything else.
Kind of hated her for that, a bit.
How could she still be with me after that?
Why didn’t she leave?
Why didn’t she realise that she deserved better?
The sight of blood trickling to the tiles snaps me out of it and carefully, I go over to her.
When I place my hand on her back, she doesn’t flinch, just turns around and throws herself at me.
“I miss her, Arthur,” she wails, her whole body trembling. “I miss Freddy so much.”
“I know,” I mutter, squeezing her hard to hopefully calm her down.
“I want her back so badly.”
“I know you do.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she shakes her head against my chest. “Everyone just keeps leaving me.”
“I’m not,” I promise her. “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere, Phoebs—never again.”
