Just a Number(122)
It’s all I can do, at this point—wait for her to wake up and hear me out. I just hope she’ll listen.
32. If I Could Turn Back Time
A steady bass drum solo is being played on my brain as I breech the barrier between sleep and awake. The sunlight hits my closed eyelids, making the pain even worse. Groaning, I pull my blanket over my head and stretch my body long. When I move my feet, I gasp, startled when I realize they’re resting on something…someone.
A hand runs up and down my calf, and I slowly peek out from behind the blanket to find Owen at the end of my couch, his head resting on the back at an uncomfortable angle. His even breaths tell me he’s sleeping, and I smile, curious at first how we wound up here…
Then it all comes rushing back.
His text telling me he might not make it to the club. The copious amounts of alcohol I tried to drown my sorrows in. Dancing with Liz and Justin. Justin getting punched by Owen. The fight…
Slowly, I pull my feet from his lap and sit up. I rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my palms, hoping it might help with my headache until I can head into the kitchen for some Aspirin.
I jump when Owen’s hand rests on my back before moving in small circles. “Here,” he says, his voice raspy from sleep.
When I glance over, I see him holding Aspirin in an open palm. I take them without a word, still unsure what I should even say to him. He grabs a glass of lukewarm water off the table beside him and offers it to me.
An awkward silence hangs between us. I can see he’s no longer angry with me—not that he ever had a reason to be, really—but that doesn’t excuse his behavior. His jealousy was unwarranted, and he acted without thinking. Because of this, someone I cared deeply about was hurt and may never speak to me again.
“You should go,” I tell him, standing up and putting some more space between us.
“Amelia,” he starts to contest. “Please.”
“I know what you’re going to say, Owen, but unfortunately, I’m in no condition to hear it. My head hurts, and I’m drained. I can’t do this right now.” I hate seeing the remorse in his eyes, but I can’t just forgive and forget what he did. Not right now, anyway.
“Just let me explain.”
“No need,” I reply, crossing arms. “I had front row seats to last night’s show.”
“Would you stop acting like such a petulant child and listen to me?” he demands, banging his hands on the coffee table before he shoots to his feet, making me jump. I’ve seen him angry before—annoyed with me, even—but he’s never raised his voice like this. Then his words cut through my hangover and punch me square in the gut.
Offended, my brows furrow, and I look him up and down. “It’s nice to know what you really think of me,” I state. “You can leave now. I have nothing else to say to you, and nothing you say will change my opinion of you right now.”
Owen flinches as though my words physically sting, and part of me hates that I revel in it just a little after what he just said. “I acted without thinking.” A pause. “But when I saw him all over you…I just lost it. It brought back—”
“Don’t you dare compare this to what happened with your ex-wife. I haven’t given you a single reason not to trust me.” Frustrated, I push my fingers through my gnarled hair and groan. “God, do you really think that I’d invite you out and then cheat on you if there was even the slightest possibility you might show up? What kind of person do you think I am?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but Owen looks ready to reply.
“You didn’t even call,” I point out.
Owen’s eyebrows rise. “Had I, then maybe you’d have behaved appropriately?”
Did he seriously just say that? I have the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face, but I don’t, because that’s not me, and also because it won’t accomplish anything.
He releases a weary sigh, running his hand down over his face. “I did call,” he informs me. “Several times. You didn’t answer.”
“So this is my fault.”
Owen’s eyebrows knit together, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s frustrated. “What? No. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Just…go,” I repeat. “Please.”
“Don’t you think we should settle this now?” Owen asks.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to settle. You acted like a total lunatic last night. You embarrassed me in front of my friends!”
Owen’s attitude soon mirrors my own, his remorse taking a back seat to his frustration. “Can you blame me?” he demands, his voice rising. “You were pressed up against someone half my age!”