Woods
She hadn't left me anything but a note. She'd taken all her things. I held the pillow she'd slept on last night and pressed my face to it. It smelled like her. The sexy sweet scent that was Della.
How was I supposed to let her go? She didn't want me to find her . . . she wanted to live. This wasn't living for her. She had started out on a journey to see the world and she'd met me. Now she wanted more.
I'd hovered over her. I had tried to keep her safe and not let her do things she wanted. I'd controlled her job and what she did. She wanted to spread her wings and I'd clipped them. So she'd found another way to fly.
My chest was so tight that each breath I took was painful. I hadn't called anyone. I hadn't left my house for hours. I held the pillow closer and glanced over at the clock. It was after nine. I'd been home for five hours. How long had she been gone? Had she known last night that she was leaving me?
The look in her eyes as she'd made love to me had been different. There had been something in them that bothered me. But she had been so passionate and needy that I'd forgotten about everything other than the pleasure. If I had just looked deeper and talked to her . . . Instead, it had been about sex. When she had fallen to her knees in the kitchen, I was lost to whatever she wanted.
If I'd only looked deeper.
How had she left me?
Slowly, a realization came to me and I stood up, still holding her pillow. The phone call from Tripp. He hadn't made sense but he'd been trying to tell me. Motherfucker! She'd left with Tripp. She had called him and he had come for her.
The pain slowly started heating up as anger---no, fury---consumed me. She had left with Tripp. He had taken her from me. His call wouldn't have made sense to anyone. It had been his way of being able to say he had warned me when he knew I wouldn't understand him.
I reached for the lamp on the bedside table and threw it against the wall. Then I threw the sheets and shoved over the nightstand. I grabbed the mirror off the wall and smashed it, but the anger was still there. I punched the wall until my fist went through the Sheetrock and my voice seemed so far away, even though I was yelling. I had stepped outside of myself as my body went mad. Then I threw the pillow in my hand and everything stopped. That was all I had. Her pillow. I walked over to the pile of broken glass and furniture and picked the pillow back up. I held it reverently to my chest.
Her scent filled my senses and for a moment the fury eased. For a moment I wasn't a hysterical madman bent on demolishing everything in my house. I had her. I could hold this. I had her.
"Holy shit." Jace's voice came from the doorway. I snapped my head up to see him looking into my room. The horrified look on his face as he lifted his eyes to me only made me angry again.
"Dude," he said, holding up both his hands. "You gotta calm down."
He didn't understand. He hadn't just lost his reason for fucking living. She hadn't just walked away from him. Left him nothing but a note and a pillow. The note . . . shit.
I stalked to the door and shoved past Jace. I had to get the note. I had the note, too. It was something of hers. I had that. I wanted it. Even if the words in it tore me wide open, I wanted it.
The torn paper lay on the floor and I scrambled to pick it up. I couldn't read the words again. Not right now. I folded it carefully and tucked it into my pocket. I'd keep it on me. This was her handwriting. Her words.
"You're scaring me, man." Jace had followed me to the kitchen.
"I need to be alone," I said without turning to look at him.
"I don't think you need to be alone."