Chapter Twenty-Six

HIS LONELINESS—WESTON

 

SILENCE. I COULDN’T REMEMBER A time my house had ever felt so empty. Even in all the years I lived alone. My gaze was locked on the spot she’d been standing. The sheets on the bed—our bed—were tangled on her side. I didn’t even get to sleep beneath them with her the night before, to breathe in her sweetness, feel her warmth.

I hadn’t slept the previous night, haunted by what she had said to me and wondering when things had become so fucked up. I crawled onto the bed, lying down on her pillow, in hopes of getting a little bit of Wren’s lingering scent. It was calming and gave the illusion she was still there, that she hadn’t walked out and left me. My aching heart was soothed by the falsity of it all.

How had it all gone so terribly wrong? My recent behavior had been deplorable, so I couldn’t really blame her for leaving me. The realization I’d fucked up so bad that it gave her no other choice but to leave for her own peace of mind, was like poison. Acid