The Saint Jones [Completed]

chapter 73: Love You

Sether

I look at her in the mirror, and smile to myself as she bends down to rinses her mouth and get rid of the whiteness all over her lips.

It's already late at night, we had dinner, Justin did something up for us because I didn't want to get out and in the kitchen. I'm done, I mean, I'm not a puppet, my life can't be controlled by someone, that's enough.

I bend down as well and rinse my mouth with the other faucet, getting rid of the toothpaste all over it, feeling the freshness on my tongue. I'm planning on leaving this job for ever as soon as we finish the last trip, the one to Brazil. I've been thinking about it for a whole week, contemplating, arguing, disapproving with myself.

I realised that once again, he is trying to make my life a living hell, he almost succeeded, by forcing me to put a gap between Cher and I for a week, and I deeply regret my action toward her, she doesn't deserve that, this life is not for her.

She looks sick and exhausted, I asked her if I'm the reason of why she's like that, but she said no. Both her and I know that I'm the damn reason, she seemed affected by the situation when she found me yesterday, she was almost on the verge to fall unconscious, yet she came for me.

I close the tap and put my toothbrush on the shelf, next to hers. At this point, all our things are mixed together, she's using a toothbrush that I gave her, it was unused and was rotting in the back of my drawer, asking for a user. I grab my face towel and wipe my mouth carefully, my eyes shooting holes in her back.

"Cher," my voice runs in the silent night.

She turns around and looks at me, the sleeve of my shirt is constantly falling down her right shoulder, exposing her soft skin. Her fingers run under it and she pushes it up, but it goes back down, too large for her frame.

"I have a question," I mumble while I play with the towel in my hand.

"Go on," she replies, looking straight at me now, hands on her hips.

"How–how did you know about my name?" I ask. I need to know, because for weeks she has not asked me a thing, nothing about me and my name, now all of a sudden she appears and wants to know whether the name I gave her was real or not. This sounds shady.

She blinks profusely and her mouth opens for a moment. Then, she looks around her, as if looking for a way out of this situation. And when her eyes lands back on me, she surrenders.

"He was just trying to help," she whispers, the lines on her forehead are getting visible as her eyes are getting smaller.

There's this rush in me, as if I know what she's talking about but at the same time, I don't want to admit it. I can stop this conversation right now and walk back in my room and just cuddle with her, but the one word that just spilled out of her mouth is making my blood as cold as ice, tempting me to aggressiveness.

"He?"

"Sether it was–..."

"Who is 'he' Cher?" I growl like a dog in rage, the atmosphere has completely changed again.

"Do not start please, we can move on now, are we not good right now? Why do you want to mess it up?" She asks in desperation, a hand on her lower belly, her eyes are getting dank.

But her voice, her pleas, are nothing much but snooze in my ears and fog in my head. I clamp my eyes close and throw the towel away, it lands somewhere, I don't even care. Then I step out of the bathroom and enter the bedroom, hands on my head.

"Just tell me who told you!"

"Why? What will it change!?" She yells back at me as she follows me in the room.