Alexander (CENTURIES series: Book #1)

21

Three Months Later . . .

I woke up that morning like any other, peeling my eyelids apart, and instantly felt the suffocating sensation; Like someone was standing on top of my chest with iron boots, restricting my ability to breathe. I rubbed away the dried tear marks on my cheeks and under my eyes, just like I had done for the past three months. You could say it had become a routine by now. How sick was that?

I rolled over like every other morning and felt the pounding ache in my chest the moment I stretched my hands to the other side of the bed.

Empty.

How fucking stupid. He had cheated on me and yet three months later, I still dreamt about him every night and woke up hoping he was lying next to me. Each morning I woke up and didn't feel his possessive arm wrapped around my waist, or the warmth of his body spooning mine, was another day in hell. I had begun missing everything about him after the first day we—I broke it up. Everything.

I missed the way he always smirked mischievously whenever he was scheming something that surely would cook my shit. I missed the way his eyes deepened whenever he was studying me. That intense I-can't-fucking-work-you-out-but-I'll-still-happily-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-sitting-here-staring-at-you-trying-to-just-get-a-glimpse-inside-you-because-I-love-you-so-damn-much look. His teal blue eyes always had me breathless. They recorded the world and stored everything inside that brilliant head of his, and for the most parts, he hated that. But when he was looking at me, it was like he never wanted to blink because he didn't want to miss recording one moment with me. Not even a second.

I missed him so fucking much. I even missed his fucking horrible cooking, it was that bad. The time he had tried frying eggs for me and the stench had been so pungent, I'd nearly thrown up, I missed that. And you know why?

Because even though he knew how fucking horrible he was at cooking, he still got up early before me, looked for a cookbook he could understand, and then tried to serve me breakfast in bed, just because he wanted to watch me eat, wanted to put something in my belly. He probably would've poisoned the both of us, but I didn't fucking care. Because that was Alex; So fucking considerate and caring towards everyone he loved. Not just towards me, but his sisters, too.

He had been more of a dad to them than a brother. He was the one who got them up in the mornings and sent them off to school. He made them sandwiches (which was about the only thing he knew how to make) for their lunches, and he helped them with their homework. I remember one time when we were younger, I caught him YouTubing how to braid hair in different techniques, just so he could send them off to school looking pretty and dolled up. He might deny loving his little broken family to anyone that asked him bluntly, but he did; He loved them to pieces and there was nothing he wouldn't do to take care of them. Even if it meant leaving and never coming back.

I curled myself up on the bed and forced the tears pressing in my eyes to roll back. They didn't. A tear dropped from the corner of my eye and landed on my pillow.

God, the jerk. Why did he have to cheat? Why did he have to ruin everything in just one night? Why did I leave him? Could I have stopped it? Would we still be together today if I hadn't left him drunk and vulnerable? Would he still have taken some girl home with him, spread her legs and given her his mind-blowing loving?

My mind wandered to the imagines that probably hurt the most, the ones I had been trying to stuff down and refuse to picture. It was the imaginary images of him and some faceless blonde bimbo who was spread eagle on the bed below him, purring and meowing from all the sweet things he was doing to her. Sometimes she was on top of him, riding him like a fucking bronco, whipping her platinum blonde hair while her tits bounced in his face. I didn't know why she was blonde in my mind, they just always were. I was blonde myself, Alex obviously had a type. I hated how easily I had let myself fall under his spell like any other dumb blonde out there. I'd held out for eight years, but in the end, what did it matter? He had gotten me into his bed as well, fucked me properly and then cheated like I was just anyone of his skanks.