As I lifted my head from the pillow, though, blinking the grogginess away, I had to admit that the colours in the room—the turquoise satin curtains, the golden hues of the shimmering wallpaper—were brighter, richer. Maybe it was just the way the light reflected off the windows.
It had nothing to do with yesterday’s events, I told myself. Nothing to do with the relief I’d felt and that now filled me with guilt.
I dug the heels of my palms into the mattress and heaved myself up into a sitting position, resting my back against the thick pillows.
I should be distraught, a wreck. Why am I not crying? I’m still in shock, I thought.
But before I could examine the lack of emotional response any further, a rustle of clothing caught my attention. Turning my head to the side, I watched in surprise as Harvey stirred in the wingback chair. He must be in agony, what with the ninety-degree angle that forced the sitter into a rigid posture. The chair was merely there for decoration, positioned in the corner of the room, never intended to sleep in. But sometimes doubling as a clotheshorse, much to my annoyance. Eric had bent me…
I cut myself short. I wasn’t prepared to revisit that memory. Not now, maybe not ever.
“You’re awake,” Harvey interrupted, looking at me with mild interest. His normally slicked-back, business-styled hair was now rustled and out of place, as if he’d run his fingers through it. His thick, dark lashes fluttered over his azure eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, you OK?”
“It’s nothing, just surprised to see your ugly mug in the morning.” He cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t about to reveal to him what I’d been trying desperately not to think about. He’d be the last person I’d ever consider pouring my heart out to. Just the thought was comical. And though he was plenty serious, Harvey was not the type of guy you would confide in. I never expected him to stay with me during the night, let alone be here when I woke up. Didn’t he have an important business meeting to go to, or a gorgeous twig-like model to fuck?
Surely the woman from last night would be missing him in her bed this morning.
“Why are you still here, Harvey?” I asked, regretting the anger that was very present in my tone.
He mouth remained unmoving, his gaze eating away at my skin the longer he stared. Debating, perhaps, his response. I fully expected him to say something rude and calculating to counter my words, and then he’d leave me in peace.
Twiddling with the blanket in my hand, I glanced down at my nails, unable to look at him anymore. How could I, when I had been nothing but an obvious nuisance to him last night? And now I was being an ungrateful bitch. I was never good at staring matches anyway, but his eyes were like the sun—stare too long and you’d go blind. And I couldn’t stand the itchy feeling that prickled upon my agitated skin when he looked at me like that, making me want to throw off the blankets and claw at my flesh; it was unnerving. The silence was oppressive, thick, and his glare was unwavering. I almost screamed at him.
“Want some breakfast?” he said, surprising me, as if he was oblivious to the intensity in the room.
“No,” I replied, my voice hushed and soft.
I puzzled over how I’d ended up in my bed. I couldn’t remember making it up the stairs. Did he carry me? The thought made me self-conscious. The extra pounds that plagued me made me blush with embarrassment.
I cleared my throat and sent an apologetic look his way. “I’m sorry for ruining your night.”
His words came out in rumble. “Don’t worry about it.”
I nodded, feeling stupid as we continued to sit there, not knowing what either of us should do, but a clattering from below made caught our attention. Light footsteps made their way up the stairs before Harvey even had the chance to get to his feet. The bedroom door opened, and my mother entered, her face creased with worry. Her white hair was dishevelled, and her eyes widened in concern.
“Sara!” my mom cried as I gave Harvey a thunderous stare. Why had he called her? “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”
She flung her arms around me for a moment, and I barely registered the light squeeze, her attempt at comfort. It was devoid of any emotional intent, lacklustre. At least Harvey’s embrace had been full of real feelings. I tried to shake the mental thought away and instead decided to focus on my mother’s high-pitched blabbering. She would insist on knowing every single detail of Eric’s death, from the moment the police turned up on my doorstep right up until the time I last laid eyes on my husband’s battered body in the morgue. She’d make me relive it. Over and over again, without a thought to how it’d make me feel.