and standing here now…I couldn’t help but feel hollow, alone, and lost. How in the hell was I supposed to move on?
The pain in my heart was not only emotional ; it was physical. It felt like a piece of me had been ripped out of my chest and stomped on. I couldn’t breathe without her.
I s lowly I made my way up the stairs, all the while knowing what torment awaited me. She had become a part of the home. Her not being here with me was like existing in a world without its better part – cold, void, and unbearable.
I didn’t bother going in the bedroom or the office. Instead , I sauntered slowly to one of the guest bedrooms – furthest away from where her scent still lingered. I didn’t know how long it would take before I could face the rooms again but tonight … tonight, I just couldn’t.
ADAM
It had been one hell of a night but unfortunately, for me it was not over. Diana sat in the living room practically hyperventilating and I was in the kitchen, letting her . After I slammed the door in her face, my mother’s every so sweet yet stern voice rang in my ears, scolding me for treating a woman with such little respect. I knew that I couldn’t just let her stand there; so, I reopened the door, half expecting her have already left. But, to my surprise and regret, she hadn’t. Fuck!
When she realized that I had opened the door , she instantly fell apart. Shrieking noises escaped her and she sobbed uncontrollably, her face in her hands, all while shaking her head.
I gestured for her to come in and pushed down the bile in my throat, realizing that I pretty much did hate the woman. I hated her for lying to Emily. I hated her because she made me believe she was someone she wasn’t; and I hated her because a part of me, a tiny part, still cared for her.
I knew it was cruel to let her suffer a little while longer before helping her calm down. I hated when women cried. But she should be crying after all the trouble she had caused. Still, her mournful wails twisted at my insides. Why the hell did mom have to raise me to be a gentleman?
I sighed resignedly , straightened my slouched shoulders, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and a brown bag from the kitchen drawer. I approached her ever so slowly, and watched her lift her head from her hands. Her eyes were red and she still struggled to breathe.
“This will help,” I informed her as I handed her the brown bag.
Hesitantly, she took the bag and placed it over her nose and mouth, breathing in and out slowly while I stood by the couch mindlessly shifting from foot to foot.
After what felt like an eternity, she removed the bag from her face, finally able to breathe normally.
“I’m sorry for coming and falling apart at your door. I know I’m the last person you want to see – let alone comfort,” she murmured before bringing her hand to her lips and nibbling on her nail.
I couldn’t bring myself to deny her statements; doing so would only be out of formality and I was in no formal mood. We both knew the truth. Instead, I asked her something that I had wanted to ask since I first saw her at the hospital.
“Uh, when did you start biting your nails?” I asked and took a seat on the adjacent settee.
She frowned and looked down at the nail she was absentmindedly biting; she brought it in front of her as if she was confused. “I don’t know, honestly. I guess when you saw Emily. I used to bite my nails as a kid. Thought I had kicked the habit, but…” she trailed off and continued examining her fingers. “Guess old habits die hard,” she mumbled.
“Guess so…”
The awkwardness in the air felt thick and I wanted desperately to ask her to leave. I weighed my options, and settled for telling her that I needed to get some sleep, so we should probably call it a night. Steeling my resolve, I opened my mouth to say just that, but was cut off before getting the chance.
“I’m going to tell her everything, tomorrow,” she declared shakily,
The pain in my heart was not only emotional ; it was physical. It felt like a piece of me had been ripped out of my chest and stomped on. I couldn’t breathe without her.
I s lowly I made my way up the stairs, all the while knowing what torment awaited me. She had become a part of the home. Her not being here with me was like existing in a world without its better part – cold, void, and unbearable.
I didn’t bother going in the bedroom or the office. Instead , I sauntered slowly to one of the guest bedrooms – furthest away from where her scent still lingered. I didn’t know how long it would take before I could face the rooms again but tonight … tonight, I just couldn’t.
ADAM
It had been one hell of a night but unfortunately, for me it was not over. Diana sat in the living room practically hyperventilating and I was in the kitchen, letting her . After I slammed the door in her face, my mother’s every so sweet yet stern voice rang in my ears, scolding me for treating a woman with such little respect. I knew that I couldn’t just let her stand there; so, I reopened the door, half expecting her have already left. But, to my surprise and regret, she hadn’t. Fuck!
When she realized that I had opened the door , she instantly fell apart. Shrieking noises escaped her and she sobbed uncontrollably, her face in her hands, all while shaking her head.
I gestured for her to come in and pushed down the bile in my throat, realizing that I pretty much did hate the woman. I hated her for lying to Emily. I hated her because she made me believe she was someone she wasn’t; and I hated her because a part of me, a tiny part, still cared for her.
I knew it was cruel to let her suffer a little while longer before helping her calm down. I hated when women cried. But she should be crying after all the trouble she had caused. Still, her mournful wails twisted at my insides. Why the hell did mom have to raise me to be a gentleman?
I sighed resignedly , straightened my slouched shoulders, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and a brown bag from the kitchen drawer. I approached her ever so slowly, and watched her lift her head from her hands. Her eyes were red and she still struggled to breathe.
“This will help,” I informed her as I handed her the brown bag.
Hesitantly, she took the bag and placed it over her nose and mouth, breathing in and out slowly while I stood by the couch mindlessly shifting from foot to foot.
After what felt like an eternity, she removed the bag from her face, finally able to breathe normally.
“I’m sorry for coming and falling apart at your door. I know I’m the last person you want to see – let alone comfort,” she murmured before bringing her hand to her lips and nibbling on her nail.
I couldn’t bring myself to deny her statements; doing so would only be out of formality and I was in no formal mood. We both knew the truth. Instead, I asked her something that I had wanted to ask since I first saw her at the hospital.
“Uh, when did you start biting your nails?” I asked and took a seat on the adjacent settee.
She frowned and looked down at the nail she was absentmindedly biting; she brought it in front of her as if she was confused. “I don’t know, honestly. I guess when you saw Emily. I used to bite my nails as a kid. Thought I had kicked the habit, but…” she trailed off and continued examining her fingers. “Guess old habits die hard,” she mumbled.
“Guess so…”
The awkwardness in the air felt thick and I wanted desperately to ask her to leave. I weighed my options, and settled for telling her that I needed to get some sleep, so we should probably call it a night. Steeling my resolve, I opened my mouth to say just that, but was cut off before getting the chance.
“I’m going to tell her everything, tomorrow,” she declared shakily,
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