The Fate Of Broken Hearts

Chapter 51

The place was cold as if no one had occupied it for weeks. I brushed by the light switch in the living room and flicked it to reveal a single yellow light coming from my bedroom.

The door was ajar. From the small gap between the frame, I could see a pair of black dress shoes cast on the floor. I eased when I saw Aiden's suit jacket hung on the back of my desk chair.

I stepped into the room, and Aiden's tall and slender figure was curled on the edge of my bed with his head between the pillows.

I whispered out to him, curious whether he was truly asleep. When there was no answer, I moved to my side of the bed, sitting on the edge to take my shoes off.

Simultaneously, Aiden shot up from the bed with wide eyes and recoiled back into the headboard, bumping his head against it. When he finally recognised it was me, he slumped back into the bed and sighed, his chest caving.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I was just taking these heels off." I slid my left shoe off and placed it beside the bed, repeating the sequence with the right.

Aiden rubbed his palms over his face a few times, opening his eyes further.

"Are you alright?" I lifted one leg onto the bed. "I figured when you left the restaurant..."

"I'm fine." He attempted a shrug and a smile, but the circles under his eyes restricted him from executing the motion correctly. Or, perhaps, he didn't mean it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm fine, Emma." He watched my eyes linger. "What?"

"We're not going to talk about what happened at the restaurant?" I tread on this subject carefully, hesitantly.

"What is there to talk about?"

"For starters, you left – you disappeared. Lars said you went to some girl's place-"

"And you believed him?" The line between his brows deepened as his eyes narrowed on me.

"No. I didn't believe him, Aiden, but you did worry me."

I studied his blank features as he hung his legs over the bed, facing away from me before standing.

"Considering Peter seemed to keep you so preoccupied, I didn't think you had noticed." He walked down the short hallway to the kitchen, pulling out a glass from one of the cupboards. I followed close behind.

"So, that's why you're mad. You're jealous?"

"What? No. That is not why I am mad – I mean, no, I'm not mad." His words were so glued together they were difficult to make out.

"Then, why are you acting like you are?"

Aiden held onto the kitchen counter before he straightened his back and turned to fill his glass with water. I stood a few feet away from him.

"You wouldn't understand." His tone was so simple, so resolute.

"You're right. I won't. Not if you don't give me a chance to."

He set down his empty glass and crossed his arms across his broad chest. He took in a deep breath as though he was about to recite a line from a Shakespeare tragedy.

"I understand anger. I have experienced the rage that comes with it. I know how to control it most of the time." He gripped the kitchen counter. "But, I wanted to hurt him, Emma. Hearing him use my words... I wanted to let go and just... I was so focused on picturing my fist on his face..."

"Aiden. What happened at the restaurant with Peter – it doesn't mean anything. Myra made that joke because she was drunk. That's it. There's nothing more to it. You know that." I reached for his face, forcing him to look at me.