SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 79.8

SO COLD

A stampede of horror rushed towards me. Self-composure ruffled, I felt disconcerted, and then an ill-natured disposition crept forth and presided, taking the crown of senses. Violent thoughts resided in my headspace, and I clamped my mouth shut to avoid lashing out at him. It was a great measure of self-control. When I counted to sixty, remnants of anger remained like stains at the bottom of a coffee mug. Anger was a spiral into insanity, and led to a fruitless garden. I took on a new approach: Unequivocal honesty. "I have quit far too many times to quit again." The insinuation was clear. "But you push so often, it's difficult to remain upright. And it's so easy to quit on you. Far easier than staying by your side." I rubbed my face, sat on the arm of the sofa, exhausted from a lack of sleep and the constant fighting. "When I told you I was going to retrieve a blanket from the bedroom, I lied. I was going to get the gun and shoot you just so you can feel a smidgen of the fear I feel when you lash out at me. And then I was going to drive back to my uncle's house. I rarely see my brother because I'm always with you, or caught up in a fight with you. I love you more than I hate you, but then there are times like now when I hate you more than I love you, and I wish nothing more than to kill you. But I won't be the one to kill you, Cole, it's going to be your own paranoia and obsession – and the man who finds it so easy to taunt you. Your men have died, you flew out to Culebra at the mention of your sister, and you flipped out at me over fabricated text messages. Your father is forced to chastise your own men because you're losing money. You're being threatened by the mayor. You're forced out of every home you reside in because of Shén's men. What are you doing? Seriously. What the fuck are you doing?"

He was heavy-browed, and silent.

"Violence is your first response. And then you're too far gone to backtrack. I don't want to hear an apology. I want you to call your father and sort your shit out. And then we'll talk about cheating." I didn't wait for a refusal or an agreement. I headed to the kitchen to pour two glasses of whiskey, and stilled for a moment on the slate-grey tiles, feeling resentment clamour for attention. I didn't allow it to take the spotlight and added ice cubes to the glasses and poured the drink. I returned to the dimly-lit room when I heard the low murmurs of a foreign language.

He was sat on the sofa, phone to his ear. Handing him a glass, I moved over to the window overlooking the low-hanging grey clouds on the wet city. In those few minutes he was on the phone, anxiety stared back from the reflection on the glass, conjuring up the worst realities possible. I tried to understand the words of his mother's tongue, and recognised a handful, but for the most part the sentences were chaotic and the disarranged words put together didn't make sense in my own headspace. I took a sip of the liquor to calm my nerves.

The call ended. Silence followed, and then a low voice. "He's alive. He's asleep." I turned, and Cole rubbed a hand across his beard, raising his eyes to meet mine. "Come here." His summon was soft, less harsh than it had been half an hour ago. His arm circled around my waist and he pulled me to his side, he kissed the top of my head. "I'm sorry–"