Hopeless, guilty, unwanted.
“Sebastian, please, please. Listen to me,” I beg him, grabbing his elbow while he packs his stuff in a suitcase, oblivious to my begging.
He snatches his arm back, pushing me in the process, and I fall on the floor, crying out in pain when I land on my side. But the man who once frowned at a little bruise on my body doesn’t even spare me a glance.
Doesn’t even pause what he’s doing.
Instead, he closes his suitcase and moves toward the door. Forgetting about my dignity, I wrap my hands around his leg, stilling his movements. “It’s not true, Sebastian. I didn’t drink. I didn’t do it!”
His bitter laughter bounces off the walls as he turns to me and seethes, kicking me off his leg. “I believed you. I believed you when you told me you hadn’t done it. But the results don’t lie. You were drunk. You were drunk and then drove that fucking car into that poor woman and killed her.”
I shake my head, tears falling rapidly on my cheeks while I still hold on to him despite the physical and internal pain. With each word, he breaks my heart into tiny little pieces, yet I can’t let him walk away.
Because if he does, it will be the end of us.
The end of this marriage.
The end of the relationship with the only person who ever loved me.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t drink. I couldn’t, because I’m—”
“Shut the fuck up, Phoenix. I don’t want to hear whatever you want to say. I can’t stand looking at you or even listening to your voice. I married not only a murderer but a liar. I will never forgive you for this. Do you hear me, Phoenix? Never!” He shouts the last part and kicks once again, and this time I fall back on my ass, cradling my stomach and not trying to stop him anymore.
I’ve never seen him this furious… this unreachable… this cold toward me. And I will never do anything that endangers the baby.
The baby I tried so many times to tell him about, but he doesn’t listen, doesn’t let me finish my sentences. I even messaged him when he left the house once the reports came in.
But he never answered, so either he deleted my text without reading it or just blocked my number.
Probably both.
He picks up his suitcase and hurries out the door. I hear the loud thumping of his leather shoes on the stairs before he walks a bit more and reaches the main door.
He slams it shut, using so much force the walls shake from the intensity, while I continue to sit on the floor with tears coming as unbearable pain mixes with disappointment and anger. I’m shattered inside.
“No, Sebastian,” I whisper, rubbing my stomach and hoping my baby bean is okay in there despite the fact that Daddy doesn’t want to even listen to me long enough to know about the pregnancy. “It’s me who will never forgive you.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Herb’s voice makes me jump in place, pulling me from the flashback, as he comes closer, his eyes roaming over the counter with spilled whiskey. “Phoenix, your first day on the job and you’ve already wasted a bottle of whiskey for nothing?” His voice stays even, yet I detect traces of anger that he keeps muted, probably due to the two customers watching us closely.
Tracy mutters, “Oh shit.” But then she smiles brightly and steps between us, saying rapidly, “It’s not her fault, Herb. You see—” she starts, but his raised hand cuts her off.
He points at the table in the left corner where a few women are sitting, waving at us and tapping on their beer bottles, indicating they want another order of them. “Take care of them. Do not interfere.”
Tracy sends me a worried and apologetic glance but nods and dashes in the direction of the customers.
And I stand still, ready to hear him berate me in front of the two men who I despise the most.
And I thought this was a new beginning, a second chance?
Fate indeed has a twisted sense of humor if this is what she delivers after getting me out of prison. Maybe I should have just locked myself in that apartment and used the help Lydia offered me, even if it’s the coward way.
I blink in surprise though when Herb addresses the men instead of me. “Are you here to bring trouble? Why did my bartender drop the bottle of whiskey?”
He is actually… standing up for me?
Sebastian opens his mouth to reply, but Zachary beats him to it, finishing his drink and placing the glass back on the counter, tracing the rim of it with his finger. “I’m afraid that’s my fault. I kept asking for a refill and then slammed the glass too hard. I’ll pay for the bottle and leave a generous tip.”
Herb holds his stare for a second and then nods, checks Sebastian from head to toe, and then leans toward me, whispering in my ear, “If those two start trouble, let me know. I can ask Elvin to take care of them while they’re here.” According to Tracy, Elvin is a muscled guy Herb keeps around in case there is a brawl in the bar, and that his huge physique is intimidating enough for everyone to stop. I had a quick glimpse at the guy; his veins practically popped out of his hands and neck.
“Thank you,” I say, and he smiles at me gently, squeezes my shoulder, and walks off in the direction of his office.
Well, at least my boss is a decent guy who won’t fire my ass for this. I have to appreciate the small victories life is giving me.
I grab the washcloth and paper towels, wiping away the liquid and trying not to wince at the strong alcohol scent, almost breaking out in hives as I feel two sets of eyes stares at me in anticipation. The tension rises with each passing second, and I didn’t miss the animosity transferred between them just minutes ago.
For whatever reason, those two probably aren’t friends despite Sebastian taking their side. Which, shouldn’t it be weird? If he is their lawyer—Lydia mentioned that in passing as she was talking about my lost assets—Zachary must trust him enough to take care of their legal stuff.
Apparently not enough to like the guy.
Maybe he is one of those people who prefers to keep his enemies closer, having a watchful eye on them, and that’s why he’s here now?
“Phoenix,” Sebastian finally speaks up, and his voice almost has a wounding effect on me, slashing through my skin like the sharpest of knives, drawing blood from me drop by drop.
If I let him, there won’t be anything left of me.
But ignoring them and acting like they are just regulars won’t help, not with the two of them here together and wanting God knows what.
“I have nothing to say to you. So, unless you want a drink, please leave.” I mentally high-five myself for keeping my voice cold and indifferent, not showing them the turmoil their presence awakens inside me.
“We need to talk,” my ex-husband says, and I can’t help it; a hollow chuckle slips past my lips, echoing between us. I rein it in enough not to burst into laughter.
Laughter that brings misery instead of happiness.
“Funny, all I used to want was to talk to you. How many times did you listen, Sebastian?” I raise my gaze to him and see agony flashing in his eyes, his knuckles turning white by how hard he grips the edge of the counter, his pulse beating wildly in his neck.
Remorse is written all over his features, but oddly it doesn’t call out to anything in me.
Maybe because all the parts of me that used to feel compassion or mercy died when I was bleeding on the prison floor with my water breaking.