“Stop with the dramatics. You love my crap. Addicted to it, actually.”
“I am. Got to go. Your brother is on the rampage.”
I chuckle and hang up. Now, where was I?
Oh, that’s right . . . back to feeling like shit and swearing off women for all of eternity.
This is fucked.
Claire
I sit at my desk and stare into space.
I keep seeing Tristan’s face and the way it fell when he saw the wedding rings on my finger.
I’m sad, but I don’t know how to get around this. I understand why Tristan is hurt about my rings, and I didn’t mean to leave them on. But then, on the other hand, how can I feel guilty for wanting to wear my wedding rings?
He was my husband; it’s my right to put them on when I’m upset.
Is it necessary? No.
Is it calming for me? Most definitely yes.
Is it selfish when you’re seeing someone else? Probably.
But it is what it is.
I want to call him, but I don’t know what to say, because I don’t feel like I should apologize for feeling guilty for falling in love with him.
Falling in love with him . . . God, can you hear yourself, Claire?
Am I really in love with Tristan Miles? Or am I in love with the happiness that he brings me and the way that he makes me feel?
But then . . . isn’t that the same thing anyway?
And why would you let yourself fall for someone when you already know that it is going to end soon?
Is it?
Of course it is.
I can’t let my boys become attached to him. I can’t risk them being hurt again.
I can’t lose another person I love . . . I wouldn’t survive it.
I keep going around and around in my head and always end up at the same place.
I want Tristan.
I’m scared of Tristan.
I put my head into my hands on my desk. I’m so confused.
I pace back and forth in my office. I’m sure I’ve worn a threadbare trail in the carpet. This week has been a complete write-off. It’s Thursday, and I’ve achieved nothing but an ulcer in my stomach from worrying.
Tristan hasn’t called me once, and he’s not going to.
If I want this, I know it’s up to me. He’s not chasing me this time.