One Dirty Night - Page 93
I blinked. “Did you seriously come to my lab to make small talk with me after ignoring me all week?”
He stilled, then shook his head. Reaching for his glasses, he took them off his nose and folded them. Placing them into the front breast pocket of his white coat, he looked at the floor before licking his lips and bracing himself. “I came to tell you the news personally. It…it’s the least I could do, and…”
When he didn’t continue, I said quietly, “And…?”
“I’m leaving.”
I turned stone cold. “What?”
“I put in for a transfer. It was accepted this morning. I’ve been given a position in the branch in Singapore. I…I leave in three weeks.”
I waited for him to pinch me and say it was a joke.
I waited for the pulverising pain that I knew would eventually come.
I waited for my heart to stop, my eyes to water, my soul to do whatever it damn well could to stop him.
But…all I felt was aching, hollowing emptiness.
A vacuum within me.
A blackhole sucking away every part until I swayed on the spot and struggled to breathe.
When I didn’t say anything, he stepped a little closer and ducked from his tall height to look into my eyes. “Ella…did you hear me?”
A tsunami.
A prickling, drowning wave of loss.
The pulverising pain I expected slowly gathered, tighter and sharper, hot and deadly. I couldn’t be around him when it crested.
Tipping up my chin, I clung to every shred of strength I had left. “I hope you’ll be very happy there.”
And then, I turned and marched down the corridor.
My heels clipped on the linoleum.
My hands balled into shaking fists.
And when I turned the corner where Nick couldn’t see me, I sprinted to the bathroom and sobbed.
Chapter Twelve
I DIDN’T GO HOME.
How could I?
The man I was in love with just told me he was moving across the world to get away from me. The same man I lived with and who was probably packing up his belongings at that very moment.
No.
I wouldn’t go home.
He said he had three weeks before flying out?
Well then, I would live in this four-star hotel until he left.
Asshole.
