Beneath This Man(152)

'Then leave it.' He starts across the open space of the penthouse and up the stairs. 'I'm going for a shower.' He walks straight past me, leaving me stunned by his calm façade. I think I would rather have him blow his top. At least then I would know where I am. What now?

I haul myself up from the step and make my way towards the bedroom. I can't stand this middle ground. I need to establish exactly what is going on in that complex mind of his. I know he's mad, so why is he holding back on his temper. It's not pleasant, but I would rather him rage a bit and clear the air. I feel like I'm hovering over a detonate button.

I walk into the bedroom and hear the shower, so I pad across the room to the bathroom, finding him under the spray. Even now, I'm drawn to the mass of beauty that stands before me, quaking with anger. It's potent, but he's not letting rip.

'Will you please just rant at me and have it over with.' I sit myself on the vanity unit and put my hands in my lap. I notice for the first time since I woke up that my engagement ring is missing. Did he take it off? The thought is like a stake through my heart. I don't like this, not one little bit.

He doesn't say a word. He carries on soaping himself down before stepping out and grabbing a towel to dry himself off. He leaves me sat exactly where I am, my eyes darting around the bathroom, uncertainty plaguing me. I lower myself down and walk nervously back into the bedroom.

'Jesse?'

He completely ignores me and goes into the wardrobe, appearing a few moments later in some faded jeans. His jaw is ticking constantly and I can see it's taking his every effort to hold onto his emotions. I never thought I would want him to fly off the handle. And where is he going, anyway?

He pulls a grey t-shirt over his head and makes his way back into the bathroom while I stand in the middle of the room, wondering what the hell to do. I follow him again and find him brushing his teeth. His eyes flick to mine in the mirror. I feel anxious...uncomfortable.

'Please speak to me.' I plead. I can't stand this.

He finishes brushing his teeth and splashes his face with water, before bracing himself on the edge of the vanity unit and taking a few deep breaths. I prepare myself for the storm, but it doesn't come. He walks straight past me and into the bedroom.

I follow like a desperate soul. 'Where are you going?' I ask his back, as he makes his way to the door.

He stops and it's a few moments before he turns dark, troubled eyes on me. 'I need to sort some things out at The Manor.' His voice is devoid of any emotion where as I'm close to wailing. I'm petrified.

'I thought we were doing something this evening.' I remind him desperately.

'Something came up.' he mutters and turns to leave. That something is, without a doubt, me. He's going to drink.

'You're mad with me.' I cry frantically. I don't want him to go. He would usually insist on me going and I would fight him on it, but now I want to go with him.

He shakes his head and lets it fall slightly, but he doesn't face me. I need to see his face. He walks out of the bedroom and I collapse to the floor and cry. I feel helpless and incomplete. All of this pain because I wanted to have the final say, all of this because I insisted on going out and proving a point. The only point I've proved is that I'm at a loss without him.

I drag myself up and across the room, collapsing onto the bed and finding my way to the place that smells the most of him. It's a meager substitute for the real thing. Only he can make this better, make all of this go away. And worst of all, I know where he has gone, who will be there and what he'll be doing. What am I supposed to do? I'm a mess, my face feels swollen and stingy with tears and my head hurts from too many disturbing thoughts. Will he crack open a bottle of vodka? I know that if he does, I won't be seeing him anytime soon - not when he's like that. I would rather not have him at all than have the hollow beast that is Jesse with a few bottles of vodka inside him. I never want to see that man again.

I sit up on the bed, suddenly remembering something. He's not here, and I am...and I'm alone. I jump up and run into the bathroom, flinging open the cosmetics unit and staring at the masses of bottles, boxes and tubes. Starting my search, I shift the contents of the unit to the side, my shaking hands doing me no favours in executing the operation without knocking bottles over. A frustrated yell slips from my mouth, and in a temper, I sweep my hand through all of the shelves, knocking bottles flying all over the bathroom floor.

What am I thinking? He's not stupid enough to hide them in such an obvious place. I leave the bathroom and run into the wardrobe, shoving my hands into every pocket of his suit jackets, inside and out, tipping his shoes upside down and searching through piles of neatly folded t-shirts. Nothing, but I'm not giving up. My pills are mysteriously disappearing and they have been since I met this man, and the first time was only a few days after I relented to his advances. What's he playing at? He can't want to get me pregnant, surely? If he does, he may very well get his way too. I can't believe this.