Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Fifty-one

On the fifth day, a knock sounds on the door to our—my bedroom. The place I have been holed up since the news. He should be the one at the door, I stopped Lydia from coming in to clean. I sigh. Doesn’t he understand the definition of space? I need space. Time too.

The knock comes again, stronger. I push my phone under one pillow, it has been on aeroplane mode for days, bury my face in another and let out a scream. I don’t feel like doing anything. All I want is to exist in this numbness I am fast getting accustomed to.

Rolling on my back to glower at the door, the bullhead behind it should have taken the hint, I don’t want to see anybody. “Who’s that?” My voice is scratchy from lack of use, I receive no reply and my chest falls. I close my eyes, massage my temples. “Who’s there?”

“Brandon.”

I place a pillow on my face, if I apply more pressure I might be able to suffocate myself. “Go away.” Discarding the pillow to pull the covers over my head, I hug myself and in a voice loud enough, I say, “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you.”

“Elna, please.”

Jolting from the bed, I storm to the door and scream at it, “Leave me alone.” I take deep breaths to calm myself, sink my fingers into my scalp. The rope holding my robe in place comes undone, my breasts spill out but decency is the last thing on my mind. I need him to leave, he has caused enough damage. “Go away,” I say in a smaller voice. “Please.”

“Okay, but will you open up when I leave? I brought food.”

Food. I shake my head, I don’t want food. I don’t want anything. My back connects with the door, I slide to the floor and curl into a foetal position. Tears roll down my cheeks, I sniff, biting down on my finger to keep from making a sound but sobs rack my body and I am crying out loud. Too loud. Too broken to care. Why didn’t I get a normal husband?

Brandon starts banging the door. “Elna, open up. Wifey, please.” But I don’t. “You need to eat something, for you and the baby.” I burst into hysterical laughter, I don’t care. The desperation in his voice causes more tears to flow from my eyes, I tuck my hand under my head and picture memories from a time that seems too far. “Baby. Wifey. El, please.”

I tune him out, he told me I could stay in the house so why is he disturbing me? My other hand falls to my hip, I pull the robe close while avoiding my stomach at all costs. I don’t want to believe this is real. If I stay here long enough with these pleasant memories for company, this will all go away. I will wake in his arms, back in the car. Safe and happily married. Instead of going to the hospital, we will go on another date. I will suggest a trip.

My eyelids grow heavy, the pounding on the door sounds distant. A yawn escapes me, I close my eyes briefly, jolting awake to the persistent knocking coming from behind me.

Streaks of light stream in through the opening between the drapes, it takes me a second to realise it’s daytime. Holding my head in my hands, I count to twenty, then stand. I lose my balance at the desire that assails me when my fingers brush my chest. What the hell?

Anger simmers underneath the lust pushing up to the surface, a strong, unusual need to be ravished takes over me and I dig my nails into my palms, taking deep breaths while pressing my legs together. What is wrong with me? This is not the time for sex. Arousal floods through me, clouds my judgements and guides me into yanking the door open.

The shock of seeing me transforms Brandon’s face into a mask of relief, he tries to wrap his arms around me but the slight cocking of my head pushes his hands back to his sides and he clears his throat. His eyes are red-rimmed with dark circles under them, he has been losing sleep. Good for him. Seeing him unkempt gives me a sense of relief, I like it.