The End Where I Begin (Book Four of the Glen Power Series)

Chapter 28

My eyes flutter open as the crack of light of the morning sun hits my face. I wince, rubbing my face as I sit up. My hand reaches blindly out for the alarm clock on my bedside cabinet. I wonder what time it is? I've never stayed asleep this long before...

But where the alarm clock should be is empty space. With a confused pout, I creak an eye open to search for it. I don't recognise that lamp. Why don't I recognise that lamp? Did Glen get a new one? And since when has our bedroom been blue? I could have sworn it was green...

As my sleep-riddled brain tries to make sense of the situation, I hear a cough from next to me. That's not Glen's cough. That's Mark. What's Mark doing in my bedroom?

That's when it hits me. This isn't my bedroom. This is the spare room. Mark's room. I spent the night with Mark.

My head turns slowly to look at him. He's clearly tried to sneak out whilst I was asleep. That went very well for him. His silhouette against the window is actually quite beautiful. It masks the shame that must cross his face, skilfully covering it with a shadow. But I can see him pick at his nails nervously, the way that he always does under high levels of stress. And I can tell his eyes are on me, the way they always are when I'm in the room.

I yell in frustration, slamming my hands against my face. I've done it again. I've given in to him and his feelings. Breaking the heart of not only him, but the one of my husband in the process. What the fuck is wrong with me? God damn this! God damn everything!

I feel the bed dip as he climbs back onto it. His hands rest on my shoulders, trying to soothe me. But I don't want soothing. I want punishing. I push him away aggressively, glaring at his concern filled face.

“Don't touch me,” I hiss.

His hand recoils back to his lap, pain etched onto his features. But he doesn't move back. He just watches me. I can feel my chest heaving as I struggle to stay in control of my anger. But it isn't working. The more I look at him, the angrier I get. The guilt digs deeper into my heart. Along with the thoughts of just how beautiful he is.

I shake my head with frustration, ripping my gaze away from him as I scream into my hands. All the disgust, confusion and love I feel comes pouring out with the sound, and very quickly turns into sobbing. Why is this so wrong? Why can't I have some form of control over my life?

I sigh angrily, looking back up at him. He hasn't moved. Through the blur of my tears, I see his own staining his cheeks. This is the man that never used to cry. But recently, that's all he seems to do.

I feel a familiar twinge of pain in my stomach and wince in pain. Immediately, he's at me, trying to calm me down. But he's doing nothing but make it worse. I slap his hands away, trying to push him from me. But he fights against me, trying to hold me. I can't have him touch me. I can't stand the feeling I get as his fingers brush my skin...

As his hands grab my face, my own push against his shoulders. In a deadlock, we glare at each other. Our breathing deep as we recover from the little struggle we just had. His face is far too close for comfort. I have to force myself not to glance down at his lips. I know what would happen if I did...

“Calm down,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Fuck you,” I snarl back in response.

“Emie, calm down.”

“How the fuck d'you expect me to be calm in a situation like this?”

“I don't give a shit how. Just do it. Think of your babies...”

I try and push him away again at that. He does not get to speak of them. Not after everything he's done...

“Don't you dare bring them up! You don't give a shit about them!”