Chapter 23 The Weigh Down
Amity
The problem with my previous diagnosis is that it can spiral out of control without me realising.
It’s triggered by anxiety and stress, and boy am I a fucking bundle of nerves over a concoction of things. I don’t know how to cope with where Linc and I stand, or having Billie’s ongoing presence in my life, or thinking about past events that ripped us apart.
I can’t get my hands on Ozempic or any pills, but there are other ways to hide my addictive tendencies. I gorge in front of Dad, but exercise until my limbs are filled with nothing but lactic acid to the point that I have to myself to the bath just to float. If I am out with a friend, a cheeky visit to the bathroom to empty my stomach is my go-to solution.
Sickening thoughts infiltrated my mind, like pushing myself to skip a meal, but no matter what avenue I take, nothing quiets my mind.
I don’t believe I need to lose weight. I know that much. But this is how I cope when things are difficult to face or I can’t see a clear solution.
I knew I’d hit close to rock bottom when I intentionally didn’t tell my therapist about reverting back to my old ways.
‘Honey, did you have breakfast?’ Dad calls from the bottom floor.
Too weak to get up and walk downstairs, I respond. ‘Yeah,’ I lie, feeling my gut churn and rumble from emptiness.
Sweating out my frustrations at the sauna seems to do the trick.
When I arrive home, I felt optimistic about Dad’s birthday and the trip. The shower steam further loosens my muscles, and it is the perfect state for a lazy night in.
The buzz of the blender whirs, mixing my banana oat protein shake. Choosing something healthy to eat is one of the techniques I often employ to get through my obsessive thoughts.
Humming, I see the ingredients grind between the blades. I’m in so much of a trance, I don’t even hear my name being called.
A soft touch on my waist scares the living shit out of me, and I half jump and karate chop someone, my hand coming in contact with their ribs.
‘Fuck!’ An excruciating cry sounds before I see Dad bending over, his crutch the only thing preventing him from falling.
‘Shit!’ I frantically try to lift him so he can lean on me, but he’s too heavy. ‘Shit. Fuck.’
Two extra hands take over. Two extra large hands. Two extra large masculine hands that have been over my body countless times. Before I know it, Lincoln is shouldering Dad’s weight, helping him to a stool.
With his back turned to me, I can’t resist taking a peek of his fine ass, snug in grey sweats. Argh, another unfair piece of clothing that brings women to their knees and mouths open. Don’t get me wrong, I love a man in a suit, but I equally love a man in casual wear, especially when it is accompanied by a tight white shirt.
‘Dad. What the fuck?’ My heart is still racing, but I’m not sure if it’s residual fear from being frightened half to death, or Lincoln being in our home, looking like God favoured him the day he was created.
When Lincoln turns, I see he has a sheepish look on his face.
‘Sorry, princess,’ Dad winces. ‘Linc stopped by to go over one of our projects. You were in the shower. We didn’t want to just blindside you.’
‘So you thought terrifying me would be a good alternative?’ I say deadpan, unscrewing the Nutribullet and pouring it into a tall glass.
‘I can go,’ Lincoln shifts awkwardly on the spot, averting his eyes from mine.
The last time we left things, we were both in tears and uncertain where we stood with each other.
‘No!’ I blurt a little too fast. ‘It’s fine. Work, work.’ I wave my hands between them. ‘I was just making a snack and was going to binge watch Vanderpump Rules.’
‘You’ve interviewed them, right?’ he says off the cuff, but a satisfying thrill zips through me, knowing he’s kept tabs on me here and there. It’s the first time he’s admitted he knows something about my life.
I quirk an eyebrow. ‘Yup.’
He dips his head and laughs. ‘I still can’t believe you interview all these people. You are famous!’ he exclaims, slapping his palm down on the counter.
‘Pretty cool, huh?’ Dad joins in, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s one of disbelief but contentment.
I swallow a sip of my drink, licking the remnant on my top lip. Lincoln’s eyes move with my tongue, and again, a satisfying thrill sweeps through me. I praise the Lord that Dad can’t see the lustful gaze in Lincoln’s eyes. I can’t say the same for me, however. I’m certain I’m eyeing him like he’s a big, juicy steak.
‘Can I get you anything to drink? Both of you?’ I need a distraction and to be near something nice and icy to cool down my body’s feverish reaction to him.
Both shake their heads.
‘Oh, Dad, before I forget, we need to add three more people to the list for your birthday.’
‘Who?’ Dad starts texting on his phone. He’s been engrossed in it more than usual, but I’m one who can hardly talk.
‘Jag’s three bodyguards.’ It sounds insane to say out loud, but this is my life. Dad barks out a laugh.
He’s gleeful at the preposterous antics of my lifestyle. ‘Of course he fucking does.’ Slapping Lincoln on the arm, he says, ‘Did you hear that, Linc?’
‘Yeah. I heard. Amity’s boyfriend is coming to town with his circus,’ he supplies darkly, snarkily and bitterly.
Dad’s face falls at his response and tone, his eyes flickering to my blushing cheeks. He’s at a loss for words, unsure how to respond.
Anger and indignation inflame my attitude. The easy, elated air that was here moments ago is sucked completely out.
I scrutenise him, noticing his tightly clenched jaw as he stares as me with equal annoyance.
‘He’s actually a close friend,’ I tell him in a low, lethal tone, watching as his eyes dart away. I can see his posture is still agitated. ‘He’s excited to meet everyone.’
‘Yeah, I just bet he is,’ he snorts with derision.
‘Linc, son. I don’t think I like your attitude or your insinuations,’ Dad warns, patting him on the back.
He folds his arms tightly across his chest, making me momentarily get lost in the filled-out definition he’s gained over the years. When my eyes meet his, I can see he thinks I’m somehow the one who’s betrayed him.
‘Anyway,’ I carry on, mimicking his pose, ‘they’re not going to be on duty or anything. It’s more precaution than protection. So they’ll just be guests.’
‘No problems, princess.’ Dad nods.
‘Then we’re off to—’ I’m interrupted before I can finish my sentence.
‘Where?’ I can hear the franticness in Lincoln’s voice.
‘Hayman Island.’
‘With your boyfriend.’ He’s goading me.
My patience is wearing thin. ‘No. Not my boyfriend. My friend, along with Lily and Rome.’
‘Convenient.’
No. I’m not doing this right now in front of Dad. If he has something to say, he can say it to my face rather than be a jerk.
‘Dad, will you excuse us for a moment? I’m taking Linc into the living room to get to the bottom of why he’s behaving like a three-year-old.’
Dad smirks, knowing I’ll be blowing a gasket in less than five minutes.
‘You.’ I point to Lincoln and snap my fingers. ‘Come with me.’ Pissed off, I pass him in a huff, expecting he’ll just follow me.
My heart is hammering as I feel him hot on my heels, and I can sense I’m not the only one who wants to burst.
When we’re far enough away from where Dad can hear us, I whip around to meet his cold stare.
‘Well. Have something to say, do you?’ I purse my lips across my sour expression.
‘You did this on purpose,’ he grits out.
‘What?’ I hiss, continue to glare at him.
‘We didn’t even work out where to go from the other night, and now you’re basically flaunting other men in my face to make me…’ He stops to contain his emotions and takes a breath.
‘To what? Make you jealous?’ I finish for him, unbelieving his audacity. ‘You have some nerve, Lincoln Hayes, to accuse me of making you jealous.’ I stab him in the chest with my finger to emphasise my point.
‘He’s just a friend. How many more times, or in other languages do you want me to say it? Our relationship is nothing like the one you’ve been carrying on with Billie and the hoards of women you’ve fucked over the years, so don’t you dare insinuate otherwise.’
I am beyond offended.
‘You know what? I don’t need this shit. Excuse me.’ I attempt to stomp upstairs, but I’m stopped by his hand on my arm.
He gently moves me back to him, each breath becoming shallower with all the ways my body is touching and coming into contact with his.
I feel his mouth press against my ear as he takes a deep inhale as if he’s committing my scent to memory again.
‘I’m sorry, Hart,’ he murmurs, brushing his nose against the shell of my ear. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Pausing, I close my eyes. The rush of emotions eclipse me. All the fight I wanted to direct towards him vanishes in an instant at the sound of his husky confession.
After a moment, he pries his hands from my body and walks towards the door without another word.