Page 96 of Conviction
“What’s going on Meebs, what’s going through that beautiful brain of yours, apart from a dozen staples?”
“That’s evil. Talk about ruining the moment.”
“Well, talk to me. I know something’s bothering you.”
I both love and hate the fact that he knows me so well.
“After we weren’t together anymore, I still kept a diary, but my thoughts and feelings were a lot darker for a few years.”
He says nothing and I can’t get a read on what he’s thinking.
“I’ve still got all of those diaries. The ones from when we were together and the later ones. They’re at my old house. They’re hidden, but with all the threats that he’s made today, I’m worried.”
I need to confess my mental state after our separation.
“I was a mess, Con. Some of the things that were going through my head back then. They were seriously fucked up.”
“Like what?” he asks quietly.
I let out a long sigh.
“Like suicide. A lot of mentions of suicide.” I look down at my hands until I feel his fingers under my chin, lifting it till my eyes meet his.
“I thought about it too, for a few years. Even recently, before you I mean. Not now.”
We stare at each other in silence. We don’t need words. He gets what I was feeling, and I have a pretty good idea what would’ve been going on in his head back then too.
“We need to get those diaries away from that vindictive bastard,” he says before kissing the top of my head.
“D’ya have keys?” I nod my head.
“Yeah, but they’re at Sophie’s.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair.
“I’ll go over there later and get them. Meanwhile, you need to eat the lunch Sandra made ya.”
By the time I’m seenby the doctors, discharged, and we get to my old house, it’s after eleven.
Despite knowing that Marcus will be at work, I’m still nervous. I unlock the front door, but Conner steps in first, telling me to stay behind him. I’m not sure what he thinks will be lying in wait. The scary monster is at his office right now, but I let him get on with his protective mode, secretly enjoying it.
I give him directions up to my old bedroom, and he stands and watches as I walk into my wardrobe. There are drawers fitted along one wall, I lift the bottom one out and find my diaries still safely hidden. It’s not the best spot, but it’s done its job for the last eight years. Conner passes me an old suitcase of mine, and I throw my diaries in.
“Anything else you wanna grab while you’re here?” Conner whispers.
“Why you whispering?” I whisper back, initiating the best smile from Conner, which makes me smile and wince at the same time.
“I don’t know, I was…”
His phone rings.
“Shit,” he says, still whispering.
I watch as he answers. I feel nothing being back here. I’ve no attachment to this place whatsoever, but at the same time, it still seems surreal that Conner’s here.
For years, I used to have sex with my husband in this bed and pretend I was with Conner. I’d think of him before I went to sleep at night, dream about him as I slept and think about him as soon as I woke in the morning. And now, here he is, in all his glorious perfection and best of all, I get to go home with him. I get to leave this house behind and go home with Conner.
He ends his call and looks at me, looking at him for a few seconds.
