The Mighty Storm|| ethma

29

After Ethan left last night, and I'd cried myself into a dried out puffy eyed state, I immersed myself in the humongous bath tub, staying in until the water went cold, thinking about Ethan and what I was going to do.

After coming to no conclusion, leaving me exactly where I was before, I raided the minibar. I had a couple of glasses of wine in the hope they would help me sleep, and I climbed into the ginormous bed.

The wine didn't help me sleep as I had hoped, because sleeping in a bed like this without Ethan, just felt wrong. Empty and so very lonely.

It just made me miss him even more than I already do.

All I could think was that he was here in the hotel somewhere. Somewhere close. And knowing I could pick my phone up and call him, and I would be laid in his arms within minutes made it all the more harder.

The anger I'd been so desperately clinging to skipped out on me, leaving me with raw emotion.

I knew seeing Ethan again would be hard, but I underestimated just how hard.

Seeing him stood there exposed me to my feelings in a blast, the ones I've been so desperately trying to hide from this last week. I was forced to feel the complete and utter intensity of them, and it's been bleeding the hell out of me ever since.

So after spending the night listening to Cyndi Lauper's, 'Time After Time' on loop on my new iPhone, crying along with the lyrics, I finally cried myself to sleep for a few hours. And now I find myself at 6am sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant, drinking coffee just for the want of something to do.

I look a puffy eyed, tired mess, but I don't care.

As it's so early breakfast has only just started to be served, so I'm alone in here with only the waiting staff for company. Exactly as I want it.

I nabbed a newspaper on the way in to read to keep my mind occupied. It's the New York Times, and I'm reading the business pages avoiding anything remotely entertainment wise in case there is something about Ethan in here.

Scanning my eyes over the text about the ever rising price of gasoline, I feel a presence beside me. Looking up I expect to see the waiter, but it's Ethan.

My heart jumps up in my chest, straight out of my mouth and makes a bolt for the door.

"Hi," he says. His voice sounds rough and smooth like only his can. "You mind if I join you?"

He smells strongly of cigarettes. He must have literally just had a smoke.

Swallowing my heart back down, I utter, "Um, no, of course not."

Ethan takes the seat opposite me at the table, and I'm struggling to keep my eyes off him.

He looks like he hasn't had much sleep. His normally light eyes look dark, and his hair has that ruffled up look it gets when he's worried about something and has been driving his fingers repeatedly through it.

It makes me want to reach my hand out and smooth it down, and soothe him.

I press my palms flat to the table.

"Have you already ordered?" he indicates to my half-drunk coffee.

"Only the coffee."

"Are you eating?"

I shake my head, no, in response, resting my eyes back on the newspaper.

"You look like you've lost weight."

My eyes snap up to his. "Are you saying I was fat before?"

Here she is, Emma who wants to pick a fight with Ethan. I was wondering when she'd show up. Apparently, at 6am in a hotel restaurant.