This apartment used to be home—only days ago. A place that the both of us purchased and made it ours. I remember the moment we got the keys; Wes carrying me through the door to an empty apartment. We both screamed with joy before making love on the cold tiles in the middle of the living room. Our bodies were covered in sweat, clothes surrounding us as he cradled me in his arms while we stared at the ocean, talking for hours on end about our childhood.
It felt like such a lifetime ago, not the reality that is sitting on the sofa in grey sweats with a black Nike jumper to match. In front of him is his cell, a bottle of rum and a pack of cigarettes. I didn’t allow anyone to smoke in our apartment, and when I go to open my mouth and tell him my thoughts, the sounds of a tiny bell with gentle pitter-patters distract me until George is rubbing his face against my leg.
“George!” I pick his fat little body up, cradling him in my arms. The smell of his doggy fur brings me so much joy and knowing he is alive and well. The housekeeper didn’t kill him from overfeeding him exotic dishes from the Philippines.
After smothering him and kissing his little pug face, I put him down to face the inevitable.
“You look good,” Wes comments dryly, lighting up a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the clean air.
“You look like shit.”
“Nice, Emerson.”
He lays back into the sofa; his eyes dark and surrounded by deep lines. Wesley hated growing any facial hair, so his mustache and beard come as a surprise. It added ten more years onto his babyface. He looked like utter shit and I reaped joy in that.
“I’m sorry.” Crossing my arms, I try to control the anger that has brewed—to the point of steaming—inside. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“Em . . . Please don’t. I’m just so . . .”
“Let me guess? You’re sorry. You don’t know how it happened. It was a mistake and you’ll never do it again,” I finish, placing the words in his mouth.
The room falls silent, only the sound of the sea crashing against the shore heard outside. Even George has left the room, prepared for the shitstorm ahead.
Wes moves his body and sits on the edge of the sofa. His fingers tapping against his knee rapidly with a nervous energy bouncing off him. He was probably high, and that thought alone, angered me even more.
“Are you high now?” I yell, the sound of my voice echoing through the room.
“No.”
My eyes move away, desperate to erase the image before me. This isn’t him. This isn’t the guy I fell in love with. And to make it worse, I don’t know how we got here. What was troubling him so much that he took this road? Why sniffing that deadly shit was even a thought?
“I can’t even look at you.”
The built-up emotions hit me like a wrecking ball. Hard, fast, and knocking the wind out of my stomach making it difficult to breathe. The lack of remorse, the pathetic apology, the disregard for my feelings. All of it had come to this moment. The moment that I needed to tell him what I wanted.
“I want you to leave,” I tell him in a stern voice, sucking in my breath to control the bile lingering around my throat.
Instantly, his expression changes; eyes wide with his cheeks flushed, shading the pale white he reflected only moments ago.
“Emerson, please don’t. I fucked up. I’m sorry. I’ll make it better. Please, we can move past this. Just give it time. I promise you I will make it up to you.”
He doesn’t move from the sofa, no attempt to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Not that it would have helped. Stroked my ego, perhaps. But I was beyond the need for ego-stroking.
I shake my head with a sardonic laugh. “If that was me being fucked by two guys, would you like me to make it up to you?”
The minute I said the words, the pang of guilt stabs me as I had so easily forgotten about what happened with Logan. It wasn’t the moment to think about it. Logan and I made a pact—keep it a secret. It wasn’t a big deal. We had some drinks and were frustrated with Ash.
And what Wesley did was far worse.
Yet even as my mind tried to rationalize, the guilt lingered and allowed me long enough to hear Wesley out.
“I know I screwed up. Things were just too . . . you know . . . safe between us.”
“Safe? Wesley, I can’t even think right now. Do you know what I was more worried about? George. What would happen to him rather than us. Maybe that’s saying a lot about our relationship.”
I storm past him with my suitcase in hand, straight to our bedroom. Shutting the door behind me, I lean back and close my eyes trying to calm down my racing heart. George’s yelp startles me, and with my eyes wide open, I scan the room to see him sprawled across the shaggy white rug that sits near the window. My body falls to the ground, limp and weak with the stream of tears staining my tired face. George senses my hurt; stretching his stubby legs and walking across to me where he lays his head on my knee.
“Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” I whisper into George’s face, holding him close and seeking comfort is his warm body. “Tell me that somewhere out there, someone better is waiting for me.”