The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 62 - Yet Another Aftermath

It's been five days. I go to work, I come home, I eat, study and sleep... or try to. The sun comes up and I start all over again. I find comfort in the routine until the night comes and Jeremy doesn't.

I can't believe we're back to this... again. I never learn. I don't know what I expected after I shut the door on him for the umpteenth time. I ran away, not able to take the pain that plagued when I looked him in the eyes. I did the same thing I always do. So why on Earth did I expect him to do anything remotely different than what he usually does?

The first night after our great fallout, I stayed up all night waiting to hear the key scratch against the lock. The sun was already up when that happened and even then he was as drunk as Dumbo. He crashed into the side table and I rushed out of my room to see if he was hurt. He took one look at me, scoffed and went to his room slamming the door behind him.

The next night it was the same but I didn't leave my bed. Not even when I heard him swear and kick one of the chairs before slamming the door. On the third night, he brought company and company was loud. I don't know what happened. My guess is that he got bored before things got too heated but, as horrible as this may sound, I cannot honestly say I felt sorry for her when he yelled at her to 'get the fuck out.'

Yesterday, I found the empty whiskey bottle laying on the counter. The pungent smell of spirit coming from the sink assured me that he poured it down the drain rather than down his throat. I thought this was progress but then he didn't come home at all.

This morning, I sent him a single text message, 'Are you okay?' This was almost eight hours ago and he still hasn't replied.

As I start clearing my station, anxious to go home and see if Jeremy is there, Robert comes up to me and asks me if I want to join him and the rest of the team for drinks. I smile ruefully and shake my head. No.

Less than half an hour later, I am knocking gently on the door to his study. 

"Please talk to me. I just need to know you're safe, Jer."

Nothing.

After a moment of deliberation, I push down on the handle. It's locked. My heart splits in two.

My phone beeps in my bag. It's Robert.

Last chance for drinks. Pick you up on the way?

I stare at Jeremy's closed door for way too long. I don't want to go out. But I don't want to stay here, waiting for the front door to open and praying that there will be only one set of footsteps. So, I text Robert back.

Okay.

I have a quick shower and throw on a pair of torn jeans and a light, pink sweater and decide to wait for Robert outside. I open the front door and all but scream when I find Jeremy behind it.

At first, he looks apologetic at having frightened me but then his face hardens, his eyes flash viciously and his hands shoot into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

A familiar sense of rage pools in my chest. What the bloody hell is wrong with this man?

"Out," I reply coldly trying to get around him. But he steps sideways and blocks my way.

"Where?"

His voice is murderous but there isn't much he can do to hurt me anymore. 

"None of your damn business!" I say angrily and push past him.

His fingers wrap around my wrist and he pulls me back.

"Language," he murmurs, but it only triggers me more.