Chapter 144: BLAKE’S POV

Chapter 144: BLAKE’S POV
It was already ten in the morning and still I hadn’t heard from Sienna. Toby left for the office around seven thirty. I should be at work too, but I was set on waiting for Sienna.

Lucy was somewhere in her room. She looked pained for reasons I do not know. When I asked, she simply shrugged and pretended everything was okay.

I was in the kitchen working through emails. I got up when I noticed my cup was empty and needed a refill. I strode to the coffee machine. I poured coffee and added two teaspoons of sugar. When I heard the rustle of the key grating in the lock, my body tensed in anticipation.

Heavy thud of high-heeled shoes and a happy masculine voice echoed in the quiet atmosphere. It’s the pathetic prick—with Sienna.

I strode over to them without much ado. Sienna’s face lost all its blood when she saw me. The tosser didn’t even see it coming. I threw a heavy upper-cut punch that landed perfectly underneath his jaw.

Sienna screamed but I didn’t hear her. I was blinded by rage. I was blinded by jealousy. I was blinded by pain. I was blinded by Sienna.

Kyle found his balance and attempted to punch me but I caught him and threw a fist and connected beautifully with the side of his face. He thrashed and lunged for me. His fist landed squarely on my jaw—but I didn’t feel pain. I was about to take him down on the floor and kill the bloody bastard when Luce threw herself in the middle of the blasted fight.

“You—you need to go home, this very instant.” She pointed at Kyle who grunted and Sienna came to his rescue—fucking twit that he is.

He flinched when she tried to touch his bleeding face. He muttered “I’ll call you later” before leaving the flat. He looked nutty and livid.

“You need to leave the flat too—” Luce glared furiously at me.

I stared at Sienna for another second and strode back to the kitchen and gathered my belongings. I do not want to stay here either.

It took her two hellish minutes to follow me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Her voice shook as she asked. I ignored her questions.

I don’t trust myself this instant. I might just choke the life out of her. My woman is wearing a man’s dress shirt. She wore his dress shirt. She wore his bloody fucking dress shirt!!!

It took every ounce in me not to turn around and wrench that blasted shirt into smithereens. But what’s decapitating my wretched heart and mind—is the very question I’m stupefied to ask: “Did you fuck him?”

“Blake—please—talk to me.” She gently tugged on my arm.

“Do. Not. Fucking. Touch. Me.” I said through gritted teeth. My hands were crammed with my laptop, papers, chargers and my phone. I left her there crying as I marched back to her room and packed it in my overnight bag. I was zipping it closed when I felt her wrap her arms around my waist. Her wet tears soaked my back. I closed my eyes and prayed for reason as she sobbed noisily.

“Stop, please—look at me, Blake,” she pleaded.

But I couldn’t. For the life of me—I couldn’t.

I need to leave but it was hard to move. The simple task of breathing was bloody difficult. I’m shattered into pieces but I had to know or I would be forever in a hellish wonderment. “Did you fuck him?” Her body tensed and completely halted her breathing.

Counting from one to ten, my patience was thinning. “DID YOU or DID YOU NOT FUCK HIM?!!!” She tightened her hold. “ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!” I snarled ferociously.

“Yes….” she whispered.

A pained guttural sound came from my throat. I pushed her arms off me, took my bag and slammed her door shut and left the apartment.

My heart was erratic as I tried to breathe.

She did it…. She finally did it. I’m irreparable.

I had no clue how I got back to my apartment in Mayfair, but I did. I went to the bar and grabbed the nearest bottle of cognac. I took a long gulp and headed straight to my bedroom. Her silk robe sat on the foot of the bed.

I hurled myself on top of it and cursed her. I called her names but the pain didn’t subside, it merely intensified.

I cried, I cried from the wounding pain that’s eating me and my whole existence.

I don’t think I can recover from this. I cannot believe she would let another man touch her.

She fucked him.

She really did.

Did she enjoy it? Did she scream his name as she came? Does she enjoy hurting me? I am tormenting myself even more with torturous questions—because I am hurt and sadly, permanently broken.

I finished the cognac to its very last drop. I was numb but the sunken ache, rotting heinously inside of me didn’t leave me.

I pulled her silken robe to my nostrils and inhaled her scent. It was faint but it was remarkably, undeniably hers.

I woke up from the gentle strokes caressing my forehead. But my drunken state made it difficult to open my eyes so I grunted in earnest.

“Shhhhh…..rest my love,” she whispered softly, “I’m so sorry.”

Her gentle caresses calmed and comforted me. She said “my love” but I doubt that meant love.

“Stay—don’t leave me.” And go to him.

I am hurt but I know I would rather die than not have her with me. Maybe in time we will forgive each other and our misguided decisions. In time….I can only hope.

“If that’s what you want.” It is.

I heard her shuffle and flick the lamp switch off. She hugged me from behind. She was crying softly and I was gutted hearing her soft sobs.

If I just made the right decision and told her about the blasted engagement in the very beginning….severed my ties with the Clayworths….then none of this would be happening. I wouldn’t have bedded different women and she wouldn’t have given herself to Kyle. She and I would’ve been very happy…..

The strangest thing about love is that it doesn’t stop even if disaster strikes. It engulfs you and intertwines with every single atom of your very existence.

I did this to us…. I did this to her…. I couldn’t stop the pain that was consuming us both.

But she’s here with me. Her being here is enough. She might not voice how she felt about me but I knew she cared.

“I love you….most ardently….senselessly….desperately.”

“How—how can you love me after what I did to you?” Sienna sobbed in between words.

I turned and faced her. My heart constricted at the very sight of her.

“I just do. That’s why it’s love—it’s unconditional. Whether you commit a mistake or a hundred, I would still love you. They say the most romantic kind of love is the unfinished kind. The kind that will forever burn and mark your soul—you’ve bewitched me, body and soul. I love you—and whether you do or don’t feel the same, my love is unequivocal.”

“I’m sorry Blake. I don’t want to see you hurt ever again.”

I hugged her and she cried more on my shoulder and spoke softly to her, “I’m sorry too—we both made mistakes and hurt each other badly in the process.”

My thoughts were still in turmoil. My heart still beats with grief. But we reached a higher ground, a ground with common level of understanding. The ball is in her field, I just don’t know which goalkeeper she’d take her shot at.

One can only hope….

I don’t have any clue how long we both stayed awake. But I went to sleep right after she stopped sobbing and her breathing evened.