We sit around a large, circular dinner table at a quaint, authentic Thai restaurant, just down from Joshua’s house. We’ve had a fun and action packed day motorbike riding around the Island. Wilson, Scott and Alyssa flew back home to Australia this afternoon, and Margaret and Robert are leaving tomorrow. The parents have met us for one last hurrah.
Joshua has his arm slung over the back of my chair protectively as he talks to Cameron, and I smile as I watch them. I know I gave them a heart attack with my motorbike riding skills today, but I made a resolution to myself when I was escaping and running though the forest, that if I got out of there alive, I was never going to be governed by fear again. I’m going to live life to the fullest and, I’m sorry, but Joshua is going to have to learn to live with it. He stopped the bike a few times and had a tantrum, ordering me off. Even Brock, Max and Bridget were on his side.
I raise my glass at Abbie across the table and she gives me a knowing wink. She seems to be the only one who gets me at the moment. It was me and her owning the road today. Is this how she feels all the time? Like any day could be her last and she needs to have fun at all costs. Is that why she’s so brave and doesn’t give a fuck about tomorrow?
Today is the most normal I have felt since I returned home and I think its because Joshua was being openly hostile with me. I like my hostile man. I’ve missed my hostile man. I feel like I want to push all the boundaries and make him control me, and I’m not sure where this is coming from, but I really don’t care.
My eyes flick to the door of the restaurant. Where is Mum? She’s with Peter and they were supposed to be here half an hour ago. I decide to give her a quick call.
“Can I use your phone?” I ask Joshua.
“I don’t have it with me.” His thumb gently circles on my collarbone and he smiles sexily. Hmm, hot, edible man.
I smirk and look around the table. Nobody has their phone. We were all riding bikes the whole day. Margaret’s phone is on the table in front of her.
“Can I use your phone, Margaret, to call Mum, please?” I ask.
“Sure, love.” She swipes in her code and hands it to me as she gets up to go to the bathroom. I dial Mum’s number.
“Hello, love. We are around the corner,” Mum answers.
“Ok.” I smile and hang up.
Everyone is deep in discussion around the table and my eyes flicker around guiltily, dropping to the phone in my hand. Before I can stop myself, I drop the phone down to my lap to shield it from the others and click into call register.
Deirdre
Deirdre
Deirdre
2:00 a.m. this morning. A two-hour call to Deirdre.
Who is fucking Deirdre?
I frown and swipe through to contacts and click on Deirdre’s phone number.
0414356232.
Shit, how do I remember this number?
Try to remember the last four digits.
6232, 6232, 6232 I repeat in my head.
I swipe the phone off and pass it back up the table.
6232, 6232, 6232 I repeat.
The table is full of deep conversation, and Max and the other guards are at the table next to us. Who is Deirdre? Why so many calls? How could she have a two-hour conversation with her in the middle of the night and not wake Robert? I don’t know, and I don’t even know why I am thinking about this shit?
“Are you hungry, Presh?” Joshua gently kisses the side of my face as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear.
I smile at my beautiful man. “I am, are you?”
He smiles darkly and his eyes drop to my lips. “Not for food.”
I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile. Truth be known, I think Joshua liked screaming at me today, too. It felt normal that he was angry with me – a relief, even.
“What would you like for dessert, Joshua?” I whisper.
He bends and whispers into my ear. “I think you know, my beautiful slut.” His breath on my neck gives me goose bumps and a shudder of excitement runs through me.
I will never tire of this conversation, of this feeling.
Three hours later, dinner is over and, after going for a long walk and stopping at a bar for a drink, we have arrived back in our home.
“I’m having a shower, Presh. Are you coming?” Joshua kisses me on the forehead as he walks past me sitting in the lounge.
“Yes, be there in a minute.”
I watch him disappear into our bedroom, and without thinking, I pick up his phone from the coffee table. As if on autopilot, I scroll through his contacts until I get to the one I want.
James Brennan: 0414356232.
I close my eyes in regret.
Holy fuck.
Chapter 3
Snooping. The double edged sword. The Heaven to my Hell.
You think you want to know something, but then you wish you didn’t know it. Margaret has been speaking to James Brennan, not just once, but a lot of times. Two hours in the middle of the night. How do you speak to an abuser that you hate for two hours? What is there to say?