Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What the hell just happened?
What the fuck did I just do?
I stumble into the house after watching Delaney walk away from me and press my back against the front door, hoping it'll keep me upright. My legs feel like jelly underneath me. I can't control my breathing. It's coming out so heavy, and so fast, my lungs are starting to burn, so I close my eyes and rest the back of my head against the door to keep from hyperventilating. My mouth is dry, and there's a thickening in my throat that's making it hard to swallow, but as I think about the things I just said to Delaney – the lies I told – the back of my mouth fills with saliva, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
That nauseous feeling only gets worse when I open my eyes and find that I'm dizzy as fuck and the room is spinning. It could be due to lack of oxygen to the brain because I'm practically panting like a dog, or I'm in the beginning stages of a panic attack, but I know it's because the realization of how severely I just fucked up is starting to set in. Nothing I ever do or say will fix the damage I just caused.
My heart is aching. Like, it actually feels like it's breaking apart. If someone were to open my chest, I'm pretty sure they'd find a shredded, tattered, and torn pile of destroyed muscle where my heart used to be.
I lean forward and place my hands on my knees, letting my head sag between my shoulders as I try and slow down my breathing, but it's still coming out in shallow, audible bursts. My chest hitches with quiet sobs. I press the heel of my hand against my sternum to try and dull the pain, as if that'll do it. I'm broken, completely shattered, and I make no attempt to wipe away the tears that are pouring from my eyes and saturating my cheeks.
I'm not exactly sure what just happened. I was there. I said the words – the hurtful words I'll regret until the day I die. I caused the tears to fall from her eyes. I did the heart-breaking, but somehow, I'm still so mentally checked out I can't believe that was really me out there. I can't believe I just ended the relationship I've done nothing but yearn to have back in my life for the last ten years.
I can't believe I broke her heart – again.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
"Grey, are you out there, man?" Mitchell asks, shouting from the den. I hear his boots clomp across the hardwood floor as he makes his way through the house, the thumps getting louder as he gets closer, before they finally stop completely. "What the...are you okay?"
He charges forward, but I collapse to the ground before he can reach me, slamming my knees against the floor. I place my hand at the base of my throat and open my mouth as I try and suck in air, desperately needing it, because even though I was unsure before, now I know I'm having a panic attack. My vision is spotty. The room is still spinning. There's a heaviness in my chest that if I wasn't so familiar with this feeling, I'd think I was having a heart attack.
