Did I quit because I was tired of fighting? I don’t know. Maybe? I felt alone after that note. I felt completely alone after seeing those pictures. I made bad choices, I admit it. At the same time I’m so fucking tired of tears. I’m tired of being the bad guy. I might have made bad choices, but damn it, so did Skull. The only difference is, he is still making them.
I’m done. I sit up in bed and wipe my eyes. He wants to be a fucking asshole? Fine. I’m done. He scared me. He threatened to take my child, even if he didn’t follow through with it. He looks at me like I’m dirt under his fingernails, or worse. I’ve seen that damn doctor here a couple of times alone this week. What does he do? Come stare at me in bed and then go to her? The idea makes me physically ill.
I’m done.
I can’t keep going like this and I refuse to cry one more tear. I use the back of my hand to wipe the tears away. Skull hates me? He wants to drive me away from him permanently?
I’ll give him what he wants.
I need to figure out what I want out of life. Skull says he’s intent on wiping Colin and Matthew from the face of the Earth. I’m more than okay with that. If he’d let me, I’d join in. It’s time for me to start putting my life in order. The only way I can do that is to face Skull head-on. I might have been a terrified kid at the age of nineteen, but I can’t be that person anymore. I can’t. Gabby deserves more from me. I deserve more.
Decision made, I grab my robe and decide to find Skull now. It can’t wait until morning. I’ve barely made it five steps away from my door when I see Skull standing in the hall talking to her. Dr. Torres. My stomach clenches and I feel acid churning in it. My first instinct is to go back in my room. Then, I remember my decision to be more adult. To face things head-on. I’m tired of running, and if I don’t face this, that’s all I’m doing again.
Running.
“Skull, could I have a word with you?” I ask, and I’m congratulating myself because I don’t sound scared, which is the tone I normally have around him. I’ve got my hand wrapped around the belt of my robe and I hope he doesn’t look, because I know I’ve pulled it so tight that my hand is deathly white because I’m cutting off circulation.
He whips around to see me, and it could be my imagination, but he looks almost ashamed. Was he not expecting me to find him talking to his mistress? Poor man. Okay, so she might not be his mistress, but she’s sure not his wife. She might be someday, but that day is not right now.
He brings his hand up and rubs the back of his neck, his eyes going over me in that cold way that he’s been using ever since I first got back.
“It’s late, Beth.”
“True, but you obviously aren’t sleeping. Surely you can spend five minutes talking to me before you go do whatever you were getting ready to do?”
Did that sound accusatory? Did I sound jealous? Please, God, do not let me sound jealous. I’m steadfastly ignoring Dr. Torres. I wouldn’t mind kicking her where it hurts. She’d probably swallow my foot whole though if I hit wrong. The bitch.
“Spill it, then.”
“I’d rather not talk in front of your girlfriend, Skull.”
“I don’t have girlfriends.”
“I’m all too familiar with that. I should have listened closer. Still, if it’s all the same, I’d rather discuss this in private.”
Skull exhales a large breath like I’m asking him to jump through hoops. He grabs me roughly and pulls me back to my room. I can’t resist the urge to look over my shoulder at Dr. Torres. I don’t know what I expected to see in the other woman’s face, but it wasn’t what I saw. There’s annoyance there, but it seems like there’s something else, something I can’t describe, but it sets off warning bells.
I shrug it off. I’m probably just imagining it because I hate her and would like to see her die a horrible fiery death, or at least have to move to another country. One of those.
When we make it back to my room, Skull slams the door and then leans against it with his arms crossed. He seems to be waiting for me to talk. Too bad my brain seems to have short-circuited. I’m trying to remember my new resolve to face things head-on. Instead, I notice the changes in Skull. In the week since I’ve been back, I haven’t really looked at him. He’s gotten older. Sure, it has been two years, but he looks so much older. His eyes, which always sparkled with heat and humor, now look dull and cold. Another thing I did.
I shake it off. I can’t go down that road.
“Well? Spit it out, Beth,” he growls.
“So sorry I’m holding you up from getting lucky,” I snarl back. I’m pretty fed up and, all of a sudden, it feels easier to stick to my new decision. I’m done letting him or anyone push me around.