The heated looks at brunch, his words on the yacht, how it felt like he already knew about the hospital.
Ride it like it was me.
I hadn't questioned any of those things because I had been so wrapped up in making things work with her.
I couldn’t. I just couldn’t believe it was Dom. Not after everything, all those years being there for each other, staying together… not after we had kissed. And now…
My eyes slid to the door of the living room, catching sight of my laptop on the coffee table where I put it every evening.
I groaned as I pushed myself up from the kitchen floor, using the same energy I did each morning when every part of me was yelling at me to stop. To not do it. To stay where I was and let myself rest because I couldn’t take any more.
But it was too late.
I stumbled five feet to the sitting-room door, holding onto the frame for the briefest moment, eyes fixed on the silver laptop, waiting to reveal the truth.
Another three steps and I grabbed onto the back of the sofa, tripping, throwing myself down onto the cushions.
I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to look or know anything, but I couldn’t manage myself if I didn’t know.
My hand trembled as I opened the screen, finding my email, searching for Molly’s address. I scanned them all, back until Christmas, searched her name, searched the trash, making sure there was nothing there. But no one would leave evidence when it was so easy to hide.
I could pretend that no email meant that it wasn’t Dom, but it was too obvious. There were too many signs, things I never saw because I didn’t want to.
My fingers still stuck on the keyboard, I let out another strained cry as realisation after realisation hit me.
Everything I’d done…
The battles inside myself, the way I submitted and sighed into everything that was asked of me.
Why didn’t I see it? Why did I stop questioning her, or it, or really spend time wondering why she was suddenly behaving that way when she hadn't been interested in exploring anything for more than a year?
Because I was just a desperate slut who did everything the person at the other end of the line wanted, who had dreamed of Dom fucking him. I'd wanted so badly for it to be Dom that I tore myself up over it, so wasn't it perfect?.
I couldn’t decide what was worse: Dom guiding me through all of it while knowing exactly what he was doing. Or some stranger using me for their own pleasure.
I had no solid proof it was him, just a sick knowing at the base of my gut.
Wheezing out a breath, I choked a cough through my tears, just focusing on the rise and fall of my chest, letting the feelings clear so I could approach this with some kind of logic.
It wouldn’t be Dom. It couldn’t.
But then a text came through, my phone pinging from the kitchen.
I closed my eyes, failing to concentrate on the laptop and my spinning thoughts, praying it wasn’t who I thought it was.
At that moment, just as I was reaching a peak, ready to tip over the edge and surrender to the darkness creeping over me, my phone pinged again.
My mind still screaming, my body aching, and my throat rough. Disgusted, I dragged myself backto the kitchen. Ignoring Mr Snuggles, I stared straight down at my phone, sitting there on the floor.
Innocuous really, nothing out of the ordinary. Except there was a chance it held messages from ‘Molly’, who had always texted me around this time of night.
My hand shook as I bent over, heaving myself up, clicking the side button to open the screen, and there it was.
Molly: 2 messages.
I groaned, my head tipping forward, that sick feeling growing stronger. I didn’t want to read them. I didn’t want to see a single letter from whoever was at the end of the phone. But I had been torturing myself for weeks over Dom – what was a little more pain added to the cocktail of shit that already burned inside me?
Molly: Hi. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. There was a huge storm and everything was out for days.