Chapter 37
I stir as the mattress dips beside me. The rustle of sheets pulls me from sleep. I small sliver of light shines through the blinds as my eyes adjust.
“What time is it?” I ask as I watch Zay slide into bed. I touch the top of my phone screen. Six in the morning.
My eyes shoot up wide. “You’re just getting home?” I ask Zay as heat runs through my body. I check my phone again. Zay never called or texted me back.
I tossed and turned all night until sleep took me over without me realizing.
I turn over to look over at him. His back is toward me. He hasn’t said a word to me. My pulse pounds in my ears from the lack of sleep or the anger that’s rising inside of me.
“Zay!”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s six in the morning and you’re just coming home?” I ask, still staring at his back.
“Yeah. Lost track of time.”
“Did you not get my phone calls or text messages?”
Soft snores escape him, as if he’s unbothered, as if nothing is wrong.
I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that he didn’t even bother to come up with an excuse or the audacity of him falling asleep like he didn’t just spend the entire night ignoring me.
This isn’t like him. He’s never done this before.
A sharp mix of anger, disbelief, and hurt rises inside me, tightening like a knot in my chest. I let out a slow breath, then I press my hand against his back and give him a slight shove.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? I was up all night worried about you, and you couldn’t have the decency to call me back?”
Again, silence.
“Zay!” I yell. I sit up and scoot a little closer to him. I’m sick of being the one that keeps quiet so we don’t argue.
My words catch beneath my breath, and for a moment, I think maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe it’s nothing. There is a scent lingering around. I take a sniff.
I pull my pajama shirt up to my nose and sniff harder.
My heart sinks. That smell is not from me.
I lean down closer to Zayn and sniff again.
A sweet smell is coming from him. Not any sweet smell.
A sweet scent that smells like a woman’s perfume.
I grab his shirt and bring it to my nose. The scent lingers on his shirt.
“What are you doing?” he says, turning over to face me.
My chest tightens. “Who the fuck were you with?”
He sits up and pulls his shirt out of my clenched hand. “What are you talking about?”
“You smell like a woman’s perfume!” I yell.
His body stills for the briefest moment before he turns to me, his expression unreadable.
I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing myself to hold his gaze. I shake my head, scooting closer to him, searching his face for any guilt, any sign of something, anything.
My voice is sharp. “Who were you with?”
His jaw tightens. “What are you talking about?” His tone is shaky. “It’s probably yours.”
“How would it be mine? I wasn’t with you all night.”
My mind races as my gaze sweeps over him, looking for any traces of another woman. I search his face, neck, and every inch of his shirt for lipstick stains or any other sign that he was with a woman last night. My throat tightens, becoming a thick, unshakable lump.
“You know your perfume gets on my clothes.”
“How?”
He gets up from the bed. “Your perfumes is in our closet. When you spray it.” He reenacts me spraying my perfume on myself. “It gets on my clothes. I smell your perfume on me all the time.”
“I’ve never smelled my perfume on you.”
He slumps his shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you then. I can smell it all the time.”
It feels like I blinked, and he’s someone I don’t recognize. The way he is looking at me is something I can’t explain, but it makes me feel like I’m a burden to him. He doesn’t speak to me the same as he used to either. His words are shorter with me, short and clipped.
“Zay,” I whisper. “Be honest with me. Are you cheating on me?” The words hang in the air. I’m hanging on by a thread, waiting for an answer.
His eyes flicker to me, his jaw set hard. “Are you fucking serious, Violet? This again?”
“You smell like a woman’s perfume.”
“I went out with the guys. We went to a bar. Obviously, there were woman there.” His fists clench down by his sides.
“A woman’s perfume wouldn’t stick to you like that if you were only around them.”
“I’m not cheating on you,” he yells. He pulls his shirt off and throws it on the floor.
“Tell me the truth.” Tears stream down my cheeks. I never thought I would be in a position like this, begging for the truth. He’s never acted this way toward me. If something bothered one of us, we would talk it out. He was never short with me or yelled at me like this.
“I’m not cheating on you. Do you have proof?” He narrows his gaze at me. “Beside the smell of my shirt.”
“It’s a gut feeling.”
He huffs out a small laugh. “A gut feeling. Isn’t your healthy food”—he says with air quotes—“supposed to be good for your gut?” he asks.
My brows knit together in question of where he is going with this. “What does eating healthy have to do with this?”
“Because all your healthy food that is supposed to be good for you gut isn’t doing shit but making you think I’m cheating on you.”
I know what I feel, and I know what I see. It’s a coldness I can’t ignore. I want to believe him, but his actions make it harder to trust him.
“You’re really gonna act like nothing’s wrong?” I ask, my voice above a whisper. “I can feel it, Zay. You’ve changed. You’re not the same.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not doing this right now.” He walks out of our room.
The moment the door slams shut, I spring off the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Without thinking, I pick up his shirt from the floor and bring it up to my nose, inhaling deep.
The scent is familiar. There’s something about it, something that I’ve smelled before, but I can’t place it.
I lay the shirt down on the bed, inspecting it closer, looking for any trace of another woman. But there’s nothing. Only lint.
My mind races. I bring the shirt back to my nose, trying to focus, trying to pull the memory of where I’ve smelled this scent before. Is he right? Is it my perfume?
My fingers shake as I hold the shirt, smelling all around it. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t place it. The more I think about it, the more frustrated I become.
The bedroom door opens back up. Zay storms into our closet. I drop the shirt on the bed. I stand here frozen, wondering what he is doing or what my next move should be, or even what to say. I’m speechless. My head pounds from the lack of sleep and now all this.
He comes storming back into our room, tossing something onto the bed. “Smell this.”
I look across the room between him and the bed.
My green Valentino perfume lies on the bed.
I reach for it, open the cap and smell it.
The questionable scent hits me. I spray a spritz of the perfume onto my pajamas.
I go back and forth, smelling the scent on his shirt and my pajamas.
The warm floral scent smells almost identical.
My pajamas smell stronger because I just sprayed it. My stomach sinks in guilt.
It is mine.