Snow

Chapter Thirty Two

The next day, I woke with a headache and a baby crying in my ear. Sighing, I sat up and rubbed at my eyes. Picking up Willow, I attempted to determine what, exactly, had caused her to wake me up with her screams at half past two in the morning.

Turns out, it was a dirty nappy. And then a feed. And then another dirty nappy. And then her being tired.

When I finally got her back to sleep, it was four o'clock - and there was no chance in hell I was about to fall asleep again. Running a hand through my hair, I grabbed for my bag and rifled through it until I found a nicotine patch. Slapping it onto my arm, I got out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash my face.

When I felt a little more awake, I went into the kitchen, yawning, and started the kettle up. Andy was asleep on the couch, having come back a lot later, and a lot less sober, than me the night before. Glaring at his sleeping form, I gulped down my hot coffee and sat down on the spare couch, my arms wrapped around my knees.

Instead of turning on the TV, I went over to the pile of books I'd stacked at the side of the lounge and pulled a random one off the top. 'Picture Perfect' by Jodi Picoult was the first book on the pile, and I smiled at the choice. This had always been one of my favourite books, and my copy was worn and battered from the amount of times it'd been read.

Settling into the armchair, I pulled my knees under my chin and sipped my coffee whilst opening my book. I was fifty pages in by the time Willow started crying again, and I let out a heavy sigh. I really didn't want to go back in there after the night I'd had. Grabbing one of Andy's slipped from the floor; I threw it at his peacefully sleeping form. "Get the hell up and go sort Willow out." I snapped when he groaned awake.

"Why can't you?" He asked, sneering a little as he looked at my position. "You're already awake."

"I've been up with her basically all night. I got all of twenty minutes sleep - it's your turn." He glared and threw the covers off of him. Getting to his feet, he basically stomped into the bedroom and I let out a groan. "Why the fuck does he have to be so difficult?" I said quietly, closing my eyes as I struggled to calm my temper.

"Because he's fucking tired and he's got a goddamn hangover, you cold bitch." He growled from the doorway, glaring at me with something that looked pretty close to hatred in his voice. "And don't tell me not to speak to you like that, because that's exactly what you are. You're a cheat and a bitch and I can't deal with you anymore."

I was gaping at him, my eyes brimming with tears, and he sneered again. "Go back to your goddamn book - it's obviously more important than the little girl crying for you."

*

I was sure how to react to his outburst, let alone how to feel about it. My first thought was to cry, or to scream, or to get as far away from him as possible. However, I could do none of the three - I couldn't cry because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, couldn't scream because that would scare Willow, and couldn't leave the goddamn bus because it was still moving.

So, instead, I did exactly as he'd said and continued to read.

Reading - an activity that I hadn't properly partaken in for months - was my way of forgetting about his harsh words without jumping around and singing to a crowd of thousands.

I read about the life of Cassie Barrett - I read about her memories and her love and her complete and utter break down. I read about her supposedly perfect husband who turned out to be an unintentional monster, and I felt her sorrow and happiness alongside her. I read about all the things he'd done to her - how he'd hit her and hurt her, and eventually hurt her so badly she lost her memory. I read about the return of her memories - learnt all these new things with her - and shared her pain.