The Way That I Love You(Book 2)

Goes Around

Morgan

It's almost like she's out of her head and beside herself. Like she can't fathom reality at the current moment.

She moves on to the main focus right now: her kids. And she puts even more than her all into it so she can distract herself from the increasingly painful ache in her chest.

The days go on as she sort of loses herself; trying to cope with the idea that she isn't good enough. Isn't good enough to be someone's only one. Good enough to be the special one that can't be let go.

And after a long time it seems, of keeping herself restrained, it feels like she might burst.

It's Friday night; and he's taken off again after dinner and putting the kids to sleep. She's asked him to stay, of course she has, but he's gone again. She sort of walks him to the door, and with a kiss to her cheek he's on his way. Again.

She locks the door; and as her chest gets the tightest it can get, her body shakes uncontrollably. Her eyes can't hold the tears that have been begging to come out since a month ago when she found out, and she sinks to the floor choking on sobs.

And as if life itself has stopped moving; she's taken back into the past. The past when she use to wait for Harry to come home from his escapades. The same bitterness is stuck in her bones and she curls into herself; trying her best to calm herself again.

But it isn't working. She's finally combusted; and she can't stop. And as the sadness seeps lower into her soul; something emerges deep in her stomach. It tears it's way through her body leaving fire in its wake. And she becomes something she hasn't necessarily been in a while.

An angry ass woman.

And the tears scorch their way down her face as her fists clench.

No more.

She gets up; going upstairs and into her closet to strip her clothes. She pulls on the tight fitting jeans and slides on a tank top, taking her hair out of the ponytail and shaking it out so it's wild around her. She grabs the cigarettes she's been hiding for a couple of months now, along with the lighter and moves back downstairs.

She grabs one of the most expensive bottles of wine she can find; popping the cork and pouring herself a nice big glass. Maybe drinking wasn't the best idea: but her judgement is clouded by how pissed she is. She moves into the den with her stuff, setting it down on the floor next to the bay window. She sits in the special window seat she uses for writing sometimes; crosses her legs as she leans to open the window.

Then, with so much skill a chain smoker would approve; she lights up her cigarette.

And she waits.

Waits for him to come home.

She's gone through one cigarette and two glasses of wine, and is working on her second cigarette and third glass when she hears the door open. Hears his footsteps on the floor as he realizes someone isn't in bed.

She keeps puffing and sipping; waiting for him to find her.

And when he does? When he catches her eyes and registers her state? When he pauses at the doorway of the den and she looks him up and down in all his glory?

He has the nerve to speak up first.

"Baby...what are you doing up so late?"

"I'd ask you the same." She murmmures.

"And what are you doing? You shouldn't be smoking..." she looks him straight in the eye; and takes another puff, blowing the smoke out towards him.