Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
My eyes pinch shut. “Zach,” I whisper.
“Yeah. He’s on his way. He should be here shortly after they release you, which will hopefully be tomorrow if you’re doing okay.”
“How embarrassing …” I open my eyes and sigh.
“I thought this wouldn’t happen. You said you were on medication.”
Guilt fills my chest; I feel terrible for everything. “I …” I shake my head. “I messed up. I ran out of my pills, and the only way to get more would have been to see a doctor here. But I thought I was fine. I just … always think it’s fine until it’s not. I guess the lack of sleep, the stress over running out of my medication, and too much alcohol were a perfect trifecta. I should have known better. I’m … really sorry. I ruined Leon’s birthday, and I humiliated everyone.”
“I’m sorry. At least you’re okay. And there’s no reason to be embarrassed. I should have asked you about your medication after you told me about your condition. That’s on me too.”
Gazing out the window, the second wave of guilt hits me. “Zach is coming. I wish I could stop him.”
Leah sits on the side of my bed. “Do you?” Her head tilts to the side.
I start to answer, reaffirming my original sentiment about him coming here, but the words die before they reach my lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After a full day and another night in the hospital, I’m discharged with new medication and instructions to rest for a few days. By dinner, I wake to a dim room at the hostel and a familiar figure.
“Hey.” Zach gives me a reserved, tired smile from the foot of my bed.
I wet my dry lips. “You shouldn’t have come. I’m fine,” I whisper.
“I’m your husband and your emergency contact. I had to come.”
I’m your husband.
Every time I see Zach or hear his voice after we’ve been apart, a truck crashes into my chest, crumbling the wall I’ve built around my heart to keep my emotions in check.
“Bet you want to divorce me now,” I murmur, stretching to turn on the light by my bed.
Zach drags his gaze away from me, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows. “I’d never say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Why do you think you had a seizure?”
I lift a single shoulder, and now it’s me who can’t look at him. “I have epilepsy. Comes with the territory.”
“But it shouldn’t if you’re taking your medication … if you’re taking care of yourself.” He’s too fatherly for me at the moment.
“Well …” I swallow past the lump of anger and regret stuck in my throat. “I suppose I’m guilty of not taking care of myself. It’s hard to be successful and practice self-care. And it’s hard to be at a birthday party for a friend and not have a drink or two.” I close my eyes and will away the tears.
“You should have seen a doctor here. I would have paid for it.”
“I don’t want you to pay for it!” That comes out a little harsher than I intend.
“Em …” He rests his hand on my foot. “It’s the whole reason I married you.”
Dear Heart,
Don’t listen to him. It will only make you break into tiny pieces.
The whole reason. I know this. I do. Always have. Always will. Still, it doesn’t change my feelings no matter how much I want reality to dictate my emotions. Are emotions for unrealistic expectations any less real than all other emotions?
“Sorry,” I whisper. “It’s getting harder to accept your generosity when I’m not giving anything back to you. At least when I was living in Atlanta, I cleaned your house and helped make meals.”
“I told you, having you on my insurance doesn’t affect my life.”
“Bullshit. You’re in Malaysia. In case you don’t know how far that is from Atlanta, let me help you out. It’s on the other side of the globe. Don’t say that being married to me, being my emergency contact, my healthcare sugar daddy, and paying off every ounce of my debt doesn’t affect you. You’re here, and you shouldn’t be. Cleaning up my messes. Emersyn has a cat. No problem. Zach to the rescue. Emersyn is homeless. No problem. Zach to the rescue. Emersyn has fucking epilepsy. No problem. Zach to the rescue. Emersyn needs insurance. No—”
“I get it!” He stands and runs his hands through his hair while pacing the tiny room. “I just don’t know what you expect me to do. Not care? Not come to your rescue? When you come back to Atlanta, I’ll let you clean my whole house. Mow the lawn. Pull weeds. Wash my car. Whatever you need to do in order to not feel indebted to me.”
“I had sex.” If my goal is to silence him, mission accomplished. I don’t know what my goal is, why I said that. Am I confessing my … what? Infidelity?