Chapter 86 Whose Clothes Are You Wearing?

Chapter 86 Whose Clothes Are You Wearing?

Later, since there was no food at home, Terrence volunteered to go out and buy breakfast.

He had just left.

Thud.

Maurice rolled over and fell off the couch onto the floor.

He looked terrible. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was pale. As he got closer, a strong smell of alcohol, sweat, mixed with the sour stench of his earlier vomit, hit me right in the face.

I instinctively pulled back, my stomach churning.

"Isabella..." Maurice walked up to me, looking guilty like a child who'd done something wrong. "I'm sorry. I really drank too much last night."

I didn't say anything, just looked at him coldly.

"I don't know how I got home, or when you left," he reached out, trying to grab my hand. "I'm sorry I left you alone at the party. I swear, I really didn't mean to."

"Don't touch me." I yanked my hand away.

"Isabella—"

"What did you promise me?" I cut him off. "Before we left, you raised your hand and swore you'd stay with me the whole time, that I was the star of the night. Is this what you call staying with me the whole time?"

"I..."

"And what happened?" I stood up. "You got to the bar and in less than two minutes you ran off to hang with your buddies. You left me alone in a corner. You drank one shot after another with them, you let Sophia sit on your lap and grind all over you. You didn't even look at me once."

Maurice's face instantly looked awful. He weakly tried to defend himself. "They were playing a game... I drank too much, my head wasn't clear, I had no idea what she was doing."

"You had no idea?" I was shaking with anger. "I told you to come home, what did you say? You said I was killing the vibe. You told me to get lost."

"I was really drunk then!" Maurice grabbed my shoulders desperately. "Isabella, you know me, when I'm sober I would never say that kind of thing to you."

"When you're sober you don't care about me either."

"Who says I don't care? I do care about you!" Maurice shouted.

"She wasn't just left behind."

A voice came from the doorway.

Maurice and I both turned our heads at the same time.

Terrence stood with his arms crossed, those deep blue eyes staring at Maurice like he was looking at a dead man.

"Terrence..." Maurice froze.

Terrence walked in.

"You didn't just leave her in that dump, you let her go to the back alley of the bar alone. Do you know that in that alley, she was cornered against a wall by some drunk stranger?"

Maurice's eyes went wide instantly.

"Isabella... is he telling the truth? Did someone... did someone touch you?"

I bit my lip and turned my head away.

"If it wasn't for some girl who happened to pass by and helped her, what you'd be seeing this morning wouldn't be her sitting here," Terrence said. "This is what you call protecting her?"

Maurice looked at me, his lips trembling.

Suddenly, his knees buckled, and with a thump, he dropped to his knees in front of me.

"Maurice!" I jumped.

He threw his arms around my waist, buried his face in my stomach, his voice breaking.

"I'm sorry... Isabella, I'm sorry! I didn't know... I really didn't know this happened!"

He held on tight, his whole body shaking.

"I deserve to die! I'm such an asshole!" he begged through tears. "You can hit me, yell at me, anything, just please don't leave me! I can't be without you, Isabella, I really can't lose you!"

I stood there.

If this were before, seeing him cry and beg like this, my heart would have softened already. I would have crouched down to hold him, told him it was okay, told him I forgave him.

But now, I looked down at this man holding me and crying.

My hands hung at my sides. I didn't touch his hair, didn't push him away either.

I just felt sad.

He didn't want to lose me, not because he loved me so much. He was just used to having me around, used to me being like a plant that didn't need tending, always quietly staying in his apartment, waiting for him to come home.

He couldn't give me security.

Last night in that alley, when I was desperately pressed against that cold brick wall, Maurice wasn't who I thought of at all. The person I called was Terrence.

"Maurice, get up first." My voice was soft and tired.

"I won't get up! Not unless you forgive me!"

He clung to me like a stubborn child.

"Enough."

Terrence spoke coldly.

He stepped forward, grabbed Maurice by the back of his collar, and like picking up a kid, forcibly pulled Maurice off me.

"Terrence! What are you doing!" Maurice struggled.

Terrence gave him a hard shove, and Maurice stumbled back several steps before falling onto the couch.

"Stop treating her like something you can take or leave," Terrence said, staring at Maurice. "If you can't even look after your own woman, then get lost and stop taking up space."

Maurice was scared by Terrence's look and didn't dare say a word back.

Terrence turned his head and looked at me.

The coldness in his eyes softened just a bit the second they met mine.

"Do you need me to throw him out?" he asked me. "Or do you want to be alone with him?"

I looked at Terrence.

I wanted to say, don't go. I wanted to say, take me away from here.

But I couldn't.

I took a deep breath. "I want to talk to him alone."

Terrence looked at me for two seconds, said nothing, and headed straight up the stairs.

Bang. The door to the upstairs room closed.

Only Maurice and I were left in the living room.

Maurice sat on the couch, hands gripping his hair, looking pathetic.

"What gives him the right to boss us around like this?" Maurice suddenly looked up, complaining through gritted teeth. "He may be my brother, but he's way too controlling! What gives him the right to look at me like that? Total busybody!"

I looked at him, and the last bit of warmth in my chest went cold.

"He's not being a busybody," I said softly.

Maurice paused. "What?"

"He's just disappointed in you, Maurice. He's completely disappointed in what you've done. So am I."

Maurice's expression changed.

He opened his mouth, wanting to apologize more, wanting to say something to fix things.

But his gaze suddenly stopped on me.

More precisely, on what I was wearing.

I'd gotten up too rushed this morning, and to cover up that thin nightgown, I'd randomly grabbed the black hoodie from the corner of the bed and thrown it on.

That was the hoodie Terrence had taken off and wrapped around me last night on the Ferris wheel. The hoodie was way too big—the hem reached my thighs, and the sleeves were so long they hid my hands.

And this hoodie still carried that very obvious cool pine scent that belonged to Terrence.

Maurice frowned slightly, his expression slowly changing from confused to shocked.

He suddenly stood up, staring hard at me.

"Wait..." Maurice's voice changed pitch. He pointed at the hoodie I was wearing, his eyes turning red. "Isabella... whose hoodie is that you're wearing?"