Faithless

Chapter Thirty

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"We can't help everyone, but everyone can help someone." - Ronald Reagan.

Dedication: JadeEmelee for the amazing cover! Thank you!

Recap:

"There's doubt there, I can see it in your eyes," he whispered. "Oh my God, I'm so stupid for thinking you wouldn't judge me."

"Xavier-"

"Don't bother," he said, backing up. "I'm done."

With that, he stormed towards the front door and slammed the door shut.

Well, tonight has definitely been a disaster.

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Despite being exhausted, I only got about 1-2 hours' sleep last night.

I stayed up pacing, sick with worry. Literally. I had been vomiting majority of the night. I think the alcohol partially had a role in it, but also the anxiety of not knowing where Xavier was. Or what he was doing. Or if he was okay.

It was literally making me sick.

Rolling over, I lit up my phone. No messages or calls, not that I expected any.

The time read 6:47am. With a reluctant sigh, I pulled myself from my bed, dragging my feet to the shower. My skin was clammy and I felt extremely gross. My stomach had an uncomfortable, clenched feeling and my mouth was continuing to water.

After turning the nozzle to the hottest it would go, I pressed my forehead against the glass pane, waiting for the water to heat up.

I sighed as the hot water ran over my scalp. I titled my head back and washed my make up from last night from my face. I felt my tense muscles unknot. Considering I spent most of last night in tears, my face was a complete mess. And my breath would probably knock a baby elephant over.

Fishing out my toothbrush, I spent a solid few minutes scrubbing my teeth, as I lent against the cool tiles.

I was showering this long because it was making me feel 10x better, but at the same time, it was dragging out the inevitable. I was going to have to go downstairs and face my father, who accused me of doing drugs.

After washing my face and body, I reluctantly stepped out of the shower. As slow as possible, I toweled off and threw on a loose, beach dress, throwing my hair into a bun. I moisturised, for the first time in over a month, and even painted my nails.

I was literally doing everything I could think of, to avoid going downstairs.

My stomach grumbled and I felt a slight ache form. I can't remember when I ate last.

"Faith." I jumped, knocking over my nail polish bottle. Moving faster than I thought possible, I righted it and glared at the door.

"Yes?"

"You can't avoid me forever. Is that nail polish I can smell?"

"That is correct."

"Wow, you really are avoiding me," he muttered.

"I wonder why," I snapped back.

"Come down to the kitchen. We need to talk."

"Busy, sorry," I said snippily, packing away my nail polish.

"I made you toast."

"Not hungry, thanks," I replied back, despite my stomach basically howling the opposite.