Page 66 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Her words knock me for six. I stand there, a bit…dumbfounded, I think?
“You’re considering marrying that absolute div?”
I laugh, quickly covering it with a cough when her face doesn’t waver. She’s serious—she’s fucking serious about marrying him.
My heart beats the same way it does when you’re about to be sick. My stomach completely bottoms out and for a second I think I actually might be. It’s that feeling—worst feeling in the world—this dread that just hits you from nowhere. Like you’re walking by a skyscraper and out of nowhere a fucking brick falls from the sky.
I swallow although my mouth is drier than the Sahara.
“Has he proposed to you?”
Makes sense. Maybe? I don’t want it to but it does.
Phoebe licks her top lip, mouth parted. I think she’s going to say yes. What then?
“No, he hasn’t.”
My eyebrows dip, relief floods me. I reach out for her—almost pleading with my hand for her to let me hold her in some way—fuck that, I am pleading, begging, on my knees. I’d crawl out of my grave to get to her. In fact, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t do for her.
That should scare me but it doesn’t. It’s a comfort if anything.
She throws me a life vest, lets me take her wrist in my hand.
“Are you clean, Arthur?”
“You know I am.”
Whatever comes out of my mouth now aren’t just words. They’re a prayer, a pledge, a promise, a beg—whatever it takes to get her to stay.
“From everything?”
“Yes.”
“Alcohol?”
“Haven’t had a drop.”
“You went for a pint with Connie the other day.”
“Come on, Phoebs,” I shake my head. “I didn’t even finish it. It’s the first kind of drug I’ve had in over two years and I didn’t even like it!”
“See!” She cries. “ You couldn’t even resist the temptation!”
“It wasn’t like that. Alcohol was never an issue for me.”
I’m telling the truth. Connie dragged me to the pub to have a drink with Carter. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t even order the drink, Carter got the first round, didn’t even think about it. I had two sips and then didn’t even look twice at it. Never liked beer. Never even liked alcohol that much.
“You were always drunk, Arthur.”
She tilts her head, tears rolling down her face as she pleads for me to give her a reasonable answer, one she can tolerate and justify.
“No I wasn’t—I was high. Everytime you thought I was drunk, I was high. I got drunk the odd few times at a party. Every time you thought I was high from smoking weed, I wasn’t. I hadn’t been sober for longer than two weeks since I was thirteen.If I wanted to, I could allow myself a drink every now and then because that was never the issue—fair enough if Connie asked me to call it in, that’d be different because I probably wouldn’t be able to say no to that.”
“But every time you got drunk, you then went and got high.”
“That was just an excuse I allowed myself. It was harder to explain in my head when I got high without being drunk.”
She takes in a deep breath, mascara smudging her cheeks. She’s a mess and I want nothing more than to clear it all up for her. I’ll always be an addict and the temptation will always be there so fair enough if she can’t trust me—I’m not asking her to trust me. All I want is for her to stay—even if that means she’s here and hates the sight of me. I’ll take that.
