Free I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance) by Sabrina Lacey Page B

they were when they gripped the
canvas. All the muscles in his back tense up, beneath the
weight of his decision. He jerks the door open, leaves without looking
back, and slams it shut. A sob rips from my heart and I collapse beneath its
brothers and sisters, crying for what seems like hours until I fall asleep in the
fetal position in the middle of an unforgiving floor, once more.

 
    4:44 a.m.
     

 
    Opening
my eyes, I remember quickly where I am and what happened. I peel my body up,
sore from sleeping on wood, and drag myself to the bathroom. Turning hot water on
in the tub, I flip over the bottle of bubble bath and drain all of its contents
into the steaming stream. As the bubbles rise, I slather on facial soap, taking
extra long to circle it into my pores, all over my face and even my lips. I
want to wash away Michael. I want to wash away my weakness for him. Just
thinking about it crushes me because the yearning for him isn’t gone. Not by a
long shot. I slide out of my clothes, tie up my hair and bring my phone in so I
can find my opera playlist, hoping desperately for its healing powers. My
softest hand towel gets folded into a rectangle and I carry it into the bath. I
lower myself into the scorching hot water faster than I should. I want it to
hurt. I want to burn him off of me. Sliding the towel under my neck, I wedge it
between my head and the ceramic rim. With Lady Lorraine singing just to me, and
with suds all around and rising fast, I close my eyes and say a little prayer
for help.
    I don’t
get out until the water cools so much, that I can’t
stand it anymore.
    When I finally
crawl into bed and fall asleep… I dream of earthquakes.

 
    Saturday

 
 
    Sunlight
shining on my face wakes me hours later. I roll out of the way of a
particularly nasty beam, and try to fall back to sleep, clutching my pillow.
But then I remember that Michael was here last night, and the racing thoughts
begin. He followed me. Has he followed me before? The idea that Michael has
been tortured enough by my absence to stalk me is so bizarre and distracting a
concept that I find myself more alert than if I’d had ten espressos.
    Oh no!
What time is it? I bolt upright and search the room for my phone, but it’s nowhere in sight. The covers get thrown as I spring out
of bed and run into the bathroom to find my phone where I left it sitting on
the side of the bathtub, obscured by a towel crumbled over it. When I see that
it’s 12:46 p.m. I drop the phone onto the floor causing a loud CRACK as the
screen breaks into thin spider-web lines.
    “NOOOOO!!!!!”
I grab and rub at them. Of course there’s nothing I can do. The damage is
permanent. “Dammit!”
    There’s
no time to mourn, he’s going to be here in a forty-five minutes.
    How am I
going to do this? I should cancel. I don’t want to go. How can I face this man
knowing that I still have feelings for Michael? But don’t I have feelings for
him, too? This is such a mess! What am I going to do? Oh no! I don’t even have
his phone number. I can’t cancel!!
    With the
toothbrush sticking out of my mouth and me frothing like I’ve got rabies
– which I might as well have– I change into five different pairs of
jeans, throwing each on the bed as they fail to impress me, until I settle on
one. Then eight shirts – yes, eight –bounce on and off my body
until I settle on a striped sweater that’s super soft. The mint begins to burn
my tongue off, so I run for the sink and spit hard, coughing. Because I waited
too long and some got in my throat, gag reflex ensues and I am in hell.
    I look at
my reflection, eyes watering, and think ,
I need help.
    Running,
I search for my phone. I dial Amber’s number as quick as I can, saying as it
rings, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
    “Hello?”
    “Amber!”
    “Yes! What’s
wrong ?! ”
    “Mark is
on the way over and Michael followed us home last night and he came in and
kissed me and then I bit him and he ran off like he