Stolen HeART
Jasper's day
I don't remember how I got back home. I just knew that the moment I heard the sound of the latch on my front door I needed a drink. I didn't attempt to take off my now ruined shoes and I didn't want to change from my sodden clothes, I just needed a drink.
After a second glass of scotch, I felt no different. The numbness that had followed me all the way home still hovered. The ache that intermittently crashed against my chest was once there again and I struggled to stay on my feet. I picked up the half drunk bottle and walked over to the sofa, I had no intention of preparing a meal, so I had no reason to stay in the kitchen.
I spotted my cell phone that was poking out of the now flimsy damp canvas shoulder bag. I lifted it off the sofa and aggressively dropped the bag on the floor. I wanted to get drunk with no interruptions. I had gone over the scene a million times and each time the realisation of what had happened still didn't make sense. I wasn't sure what to do or who to tell. I'd defended him, gave excuses to the team just so I could be in his company. I had trusted him. I snorted at my own admission. He was the target. What sane logic would cause me to trust him?
I looked over at my laptop and frowned. Less than a few hours ago I would have bet my professional lifestyle on not needing the backup and support of the team. I willingly threw caution to the wind and pulled the plug, so to speak. Sluggishly I stood up and swayed at the sudden change of my position and too many scotches. Had I been duped? Oh God, the panic hit me. My empty glass fell from my hand and landed with a thump on the bureau desk, precariously wobbling before settling on the flat surface.
I couldn't check; I couldn't hear whether the conversation between them had anything to do with me. I wouldn't know if the night we had just spent together was for real. I held on to the corner of the desk to steady myself. Not trusting my balance to keep upright, I slid onto the chair and cradled my face in my hands. Had this been his plan all along? Had I been the target?
I'd spent late nights listening to him sleep and days looking at pictures of him.
I had shared his bed...
I knew the moment I listlessly opened my eyes that the cause of the throbbing headache was due to a lack of fluids and this meant that I had the mother of all hangovers. I groaned in discomfort. My stiff neck ached from the awkward position I had passed out in and prevented me from sitting up straight. My body felt rigid from sleeping in wet clothes. I dragged myself over to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. I shivered from the damp coldness I felt and the lack of food. As I gulped down the water, I became aware of the illuminated time on the oven display panel and winced, 2:30 am; I needed to warm myself up and try to get some sleep.
I felt unsettled and restless. The intention of soaking longingly in a bath full of scented hot water didn't live up to my expectations and with the flashbacks of the last time I had submerged myself in the tub, Edward's voice rang in my ears. I felt the tears overflow and spill down my cheeks. I quickly decided to just wash last night off my skin and go to bed. I was tired and in an almost zombie-like state. I knew that sleep would come easy after I took another swig of whisky.
The hum of my alarm clock didn't sway me to leap from my bed. I stared up at the ceiling as I tried to motivate myself to get up and start the day. Though my headache and the need for water had subsided, I just wasn't up to playing the host. I had yet to sit down and do my usual analysing of what I had seen last night, part of me was in denial, the other part of me was scared. Scared that I had fallen for someone like me, someone who wasn't who they said they were, someone who had lost and lived by other people's expectations and rules. Instead I chose to ignore what I felt. I had to put on my fake smile and act like the gallery owner.
