Toxic Girl

Chapter Thirty-Two

Later that night, I get a text message from someone I never thought I’d hear from again.

Diamond - I didn’t want to do this, but boss insisted. He wants you for an event next week. A one-off thing. 10 K if you’re interested. Take care, sugar.

Ten thousand dollars for one night? Where the hell was this event when I needed to pay off London’s debt? I look down at my stomach. That money could do a lot for me right now. I could buy all the things for the baby and cut down on a few shifts at work. Was I really thinking of doing this? I send a text message back to Diamond, then go to sleep.

My phone doesn’t stop ringing, so I put it on silent. I hear the banging on the front door first thing in the morning. I put a pillow over my head from where I’m sleeping on the couch and ignore it. I don’t want any drama today, I just want to sleep. My body aches, and I feel exhausted even though I haven’t really done anything. Except create new life inside me. London appears from her bedroom door, hair all over the place, scowl on her face.

“Are we loving Grayson this morning? Or hating?” she asks as she stares at the door.

“Definitely not loving,” I say, unable to say I hate him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say I hate him.

“All right,” she says. “How did you sleep?”

I wince. “I’ve had better.”

“I told you to sleep on the bed!” she growls, hands on her hips.

“I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

She gives me a look that says she clearly doesn’t understand the difference. The banging commences again.

“Shit, I have to answer it. The neighbours will complain,” she says, walking to the door and opening it. “What the hell do you want, drunko?” I hear her say.

“I need to talk to her,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Well, she doesn’t want to see you. So take a hint,” she says, full of attitude.

“For fuck’s sake, London, move aside,” he growls, losing his patience with her. I hear them both speaking to each other in low voices; then they both walk into the living room.

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” he asks, seeing me lying there.

I shrug, attempting nonchalance. “I thought I’d let you have the bed at home in case you wanted to bring one of your exes back.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” he growls. “I went to a bar with Leah. Dylan showed up, and we had drinks together. That was it!”

“You shouldn’t have gone out in the first place! You were angry, so I came to apologise and take you home; instead, you were sitting there next to her! And you know how I feel about her. You know! And you didn’t give a shit!” I say angrily, standing up beside the couch.

“Babe,” he says, pausing for a moment. “I’m sorry you see it that way, but that’s not how it was at all.”

“How did she even know you were there?” I ask him.

Silence. “Dylan called me when I was there.”

“Why the fuck is she still calling you?” I yell.

He runs his hands down his face. “I rang her to yell at her over the stunt she pulled. She didn’t answer, but then she called me back when I was at the bar. I mentioned I was there; she then just showed up.”

I laugh but there’s no humour in it. “So that’s your apology? You fucked up, Grayson. Your words say one thing, but your actions clearly say something else. How would you feel if I walked out of the house because I was angry, and then went to a bar and had drinks with my ex?”

His expression darkens, the air in the room getting tenser by the second. “She means nothing to me. That’s why I don’t see it as you do, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have even spoken to her,” he says, eyes not leaving mine. “You have no competition, babe, no one. I don’t even look at women like that anymore. Fuck, you’re all I see. All I want. I just wish that you could see that too.”

“If I’m feeling insecure, don’t you think some of that is on you? By doing shit like this?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m not even wearing a bra.

London walks over to me with a bottle of water and some crackers. “Thanks,” I tell her. Grayson’s face drops even further. He normally does these things for me.

“When are you coming home?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. He stands in front of me, pushing an errant lock of hair behind my ear.

“Please come home so we can talk,” he says softly so only I can hear him.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted over the money thing. I don’t want to have to ask you for money, to rely on you. And you shouldn’t have spoken to Aiden for me, but still I know that you were looking out for me, even though you didn’t go about it the right way,” I say. “But what you did afterwards… I don’t think I should have to deal with that. The next time we fight, are you going to do that again? I don’t know now. And I don’t know if I can believe you anymore.”

“I fucked up, babe--let me make it up to you. I was just… hurt. What’s mine is yours, always. You think you would have to ask me for money? I would give you a damn bank card, whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t have to ask me for anything—it’s not like that between us. At least, I thought it wasn’t. I know you like to be independent, and I get that. It’s just seeing you—sick in the mornings, then uni, then work—working your ass off. How do you think I feel about that? When I have the means to give you an easier life. You’re carrying my baby, and I want the two of you healthy. So try and look at it from my point of view. I’m just trying to take care of my family the best I can.”

I close my eyes. “I know you’re trying. I know that.”

“I’m sorry for being a caveman; I won’t make your decisions for you again. At least, I’ll try not to,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “You can always call me out on it if I do, like you’re doing right now.”

I hate how charming he is. “I’ll be home in a few days.”

He stills. “A few days? What? I don’t want to wait that long without you.”

I sigh, feeling so damn tired.

“I’m so sorry, babe, you don’t need this stress,” he says, picking me up and lying me back down on the couch. “You rest. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.” He kisses me on my nose. “I love you.”

I look over at London who is sitting on the kitchen bench, staring. “Did you just watch that whole show?” I ask her.

“Yep,” she says, chewing.

“What are you eating?” I ask her.

“Popcorn,” she says, grinning.

“You’re a weirdo,” I say.

“It’s like a TV sitcom. The Grayson and Paris show.”

“You’re an ass,” I say, sinking into the couch, getting comfy. “When’s Aiden coming over? I need to talk to him about my job,” I tell her.

“He’ll be here this afternoon,” she says. “You know, I do have a guest room; there’s just no bed in there. I feel bad; you look uncomfortable. Could you please take the room? I’d feel a hell of a lot better.”

“Well, as long as you feel better,” I say dryly.

As it turns out, we didn’t need to worry. Grayson had a brand new bed and mattress delivered to her house the very next morning.