Chapter 15
Mila.
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing from where I left it on my bedside chest of drawers. Reaching for it, my stomach churns when I see my husband’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, my voice sounding rough from sleep.
“You still in bed?”
I know I shouldn’t be surprised at his tone or that that’s his first question when we haven’t spoken since he dropped me off here with a concussion, stitches, and a broken wrist on Monday, but a little stab of something still pierces my chest. Then I remember everything I now know about this man, and I quickly move my jaw from side to side to relieve the tension before I speak again.
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night so got up at three and made myself a tea. It obviously did the trick,” I explain, forcing my tone to be gentle? Cute? I don’t know. My aim is not to make it sound like I wouldn’t piss on this man if he was on fire, in fact, I’d dance around his burning body, naked! Hopefully, I manage to hide all of that.
Looking down at my phone, I see that it’s only six-thirty, so what the fuck is his problem anyway?
“Listen, you’ve got an appointment at the fracture clinic today, but I’m a bit tied up?—”
With Alice, I wonder? “No worries,” I interrupt. The last thing I want is him coming here. “I can get a train.”
“Mila, we don’t do trains. Get an Uber or a taxi, but do not get a train.”
I had absolutely no plans to get a train anyway. I know he thinks all forms of public transport, except for those involving a car, are beneath him and his family, but I just wanted to push his buttons.
“Okay, what time’s my appointment? I can’t remember.” I know it’s at three-thirty because I received a text reminder from the clinic. I just want to reassure him that I’m still a dumb little housewife who can’t think for herself and even relies on him to remind her of her appointments.
“Three-thirty, and I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.”
“I assumed you were busy when you didn’t call.”
“Yeah, I had to go up to Queensland for a couple of days. I’m still there but going to try and get home in the morning and come and spend the weekend with you. You don’t have your period do you?”
My gut churns so violently, I have to close my eyes against the assault and swallow down the bile rising in my throat before I can answer with a lie.
“I actually do. That’s why I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m bleeding really heavily, and the cramps are crippling me.”
“But you’re not due for another twelve days according to the tracker. This should be the perfect time.”
“I know, baby, and I’m sorry. Doctor Spencer did say my periods could be all over the place for up to a year after coming off the pill, remember? I did tell you that.”
“This is fucking bullshit. You’re never going to get pregnant at his rate!”
That’s the plan, cockhead. If he wants a baby so badly, why doesn’t he just knock Alice up?
“It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen. Stop stressing. You still going to come and stay the weekend?” Please, please don’t.
“Not really any point if you’re cramping and bleeding out all over the place. Have your bruises faded?”
I fist pump the air in silent celebration before turning my cutesy voice back on. “They look pretty ugly right now. They’ve turned yellow.”
“You may as well stay there another week then. Your stitches should start to dissolve soon, and the bruises should’ve faded by then. If your bleeding stops before then, call me, and I’ll come visit.”
I pull a face at that prospect and give a silent shudder. “Okay. Miss you.”
“Yeah,” is the reply I get before he hangs up.
It’s not until my hand and my head hurt simultaneously that I realise I’m gripping the phone as tightly as I’m clenching my jaw.
Leaning back into my pillows, I contemplate what the fuck I’m doing with my life.
Like, seriously. What the actual fuck? How do I really think this is all likely to end up?
My husband only wants me for my uterus, and Sam and Frankie for my vagina, arsehole, and mouth. I know my husband’s long-term plans for me, but what about the other two? Exactly what am I doing? It’s not like the three of us are going to skip off into the sunset together, happily sharing a bed for the rest of our lives. What happens when they get tired of filling my orifices? They’re partners in a sex club. No doubt they have their pick of women— or men, in Frankie’s case. Maybe both, or what-the-fuck-ever.
“Gah!” I bang my head against my pillow and shout out my frustrations. I’m so fucking sick of being beholden to men.
“Well, you made your bed, Mila Grace, and as uncomfortable as it is, now you’re just going to have to lay in it,” I say out loud to the universe, but mostly to myself as I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My smart watch vibrates, letting me know I have an incoming call from Frankie on my back-up phone.
Sam had the bright idea that I sync it to my watch so I wouldn’t miss their calls while it was on silent. I pull it out from under the mattress and swipe to answer.
“Hey,” I answer flatly.
“Who pissed in your Weet-Bix?”
“Where shall I start?” I say on a sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
“What are we doing, the three of us? What the fuck is it that we’re actually doing? We’ve had this thing, this fuck fest or whatever it is you want to call it, going for a week. A fucking week, and you two are acting like a pair of alpha doms from a romance novel, making out like you care, and I’m just wondering… where are we going with all this? What’s the long-term fucking plan here?”
“Mils…”
“What happens when one or both of you get bored? When something sweeter, juicier, newer, shinier walks into your club?”
“Mils…”
“Where’s that gonna leave me? Because the way I see it, between my husband, and your dicks, in one way or another, all I’m going to end up being is well and truly fucked, and not a lot else.”
“Mils! What the fuck happened? You were fine when I called to check in last night. Sam said you were fine when he dropped you off, already half asleep when he called to say goodnight. It’s six fucking thirty in the morning. What the fuck has happened since then and now?”
I don’t have an answer. Instead, I burst into tears. I don’t cry. I swear, I am not normally a crier, but for the second time in less than forty-eight hours, I’m in tears.
“I’m scared. I’m fucking scared,” I sob.
“Of what?” Frankie asks quietly.
“Of what’s going to happen to me.”
“Mils, I keep telling you, we’ve got you. Sammie and me, we’ve got you.”
“But what about when you don’t?”
“Get showered, get dressed, and meet me wherever it is Sam meets you in an hour. I’m coming to get you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you on your own like this. Wear something nice. We’ll get lunch later.”
“I don’t have anything nice. Logan dropped me here with no clothes, and I have to be at the fracture clinic at half three.”
“Then, wear whatever, and we’ll go shopping for something nice. Go shower. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
I sniff down the phone.
“Mils?”
“Yeah?” I say as I wipe my nose on the back of my hand.
“Love you, beautiful girl. Everything’s gonna turn out fine, I promise.”
Frankie ends the call.
I’m left in stunned silence.
He loves me?
Is that what he just said?
I don’t remember the last time someone except my sister said those words to me.
I don’t remember the last time I ever felt truly loved by anyone other than my sister, in fact.
I sit on the edge of the bed and cry for another twenty minutes as I process what Frankie said, or what I think he said, before finally making my way to the shower.