He bites his thumbnail and shakes his head.
I roll my eyes and pull my blanket back up around my face. “Whatever,” I murmur.
For another half an hour I sit with him fuming next to me and my head feels like it is about to explode. “What is it Joshua? Why did you come here if you are furious?”
He jumps up in a rush. “I’m not mad wit
h you,” he yells, and my eyes close from the echoing sound.
I frown. “Who are you mad with?” I reply.
“Myself mostly.”
I frown again. “Why?” The pain in my head becomes so intense that my eyes tear up and it starts to throb. I can’t handle this conversation now.
“Because I can’t stay away from you!” he yells.
I sit up and frown at him.
“Every goddamn day at three o’clock I start to watch my clock counting the hours until I see you and it makes me sick.”
My eyes fill with tears as my head starts to really thump. “It makes you sick missing me?” I ask, mortified.
“I shouldn’t miss you. I should hate you, I shouldn’t feel the way I do about you!”
The pain in my head becomes too much to bear. “But I love you,” I whisper as the stupid tears roll onto my cheeks.
“Natasha!” he screams. “Are you listening to me at all?”
My head throbs and my tears fall. I don’t have the strength to deal with him now. I stand slowly. “Joshua, I am unwell. I can’t argue with you tonight. I need to go to bed,” I whisper in a strained voice.
He frowns as his face falls. “Are you ok?”
I shake my head. “No, I am not. I have a terrible headache. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I need some still Josh, please give me some still.”
Chapter 26
Joshua
I wake to the sound of a glass smashing. I sit up in a rush and flick the lamp on. Natasha isn’t in bed and I immediately jump up and run out into the lounge room.
“Natasha,” I call in a panic.
“In here, baby, I’m ok,” she calls from the bathroom. Relief hits me, thank god. I go to the bathroom and find that she is anything but ok. She is on the floor on her knees throwing up and her hands are shaking heavily as she tries to hold herself up.
I drop to my knees next to her. “What’s the matter?” I ask as I brush her hair back from her perspiration-clad forehead.
“Migraine,” she whispers. “Can you get me my phone please?”
I nod and run from the room. I don’t know anything about migraines. “Where is it?” I call in a panic from the bedroom.
“In the wardrobe in my handbag,” she replies.
I run into the wardrobe and flick on the light as my eyes dart around the small space. I’m getting her a new wardrobe on Monday. This is ridiculous. Shit, there are about ten handbags all hanging from a shelf. “Which one?” I call but she doesn’t answer. “Natasha, which bag?” She doesn’t answer again and I sprint back to the bathroom to find her throwing up again.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask.
She continues to throw up violently and I run my hands nervously through my hair.