I'm Sorry, I love you

Chapter 16

I stare at him in horror. Fuck. The shock has stopped my hiccups at least. His face is red and contorted, all the kindness I fell in love with evaporated in a split second. I try to rack my brains for an excuse, any excuse, to explain how the marks came to be. But nothing comes to mind.

"Amelia, please don't make me ask again. How the fuck did you get that mark?"

"I walked into my bathroom cupboard yesterday morning"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What a cliché answer. I can tell from the look on his face, eyebrows pulled together and eyes in slits, that Andrew has not bought this. Not that I'm surprised. I wouldn't either if roles were reversed. But what can I do? I can't go back on my answer now.

He turns from me, hand running through his hair. He heaves a sigh before facing me once again. His gaze softens slightly as he steps towards me. Cupping my face he forces me to look him in the eyes. His thumbs tenderly stroke my cheek, causing me to turn into his palms on instinct. Tears are falling silently now. I should have tried better to cover the mark. Should have kept my composure better. Maybe I could reason with him. Make him realise it was my fault, not Michael's. That I haven't been a good wife. Fuck, his being here, our very relationship is proof enough of that. The words are stuck in my throat and my mouth is too dry to form a sound. Instead I lick my lips and try to gulp saliva. Anything to ease the discomfort.

I can't do this, can't have this conversation. Not with him, not with anyone. They wouldn't understand. I take his hands and lower them before pushing past him. I need to get out of this room. I feel too claustrophobic. His hands grab my wrists before I'm too far out of his reach. I yelp in pain. Shit. Instantaneously he spins me around to him and pulls my sleeves up. His face drops as he sees the bruises on my wrist. I try to hide the other arm behind my back but I'm not quick enough.

"Fuck. Amelia tell me what happened. Now!"

Glass shatters on the wall, a photo frame containing a picture of me and Michael on our wedding day. I drop to the floor. My chest – I can't – oh god. I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? There's a fire raging through my ribcage, tearing it open. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Oh my god, am I dying? My throat constricts, refusing to allow precious air access to my screaming lungs. It hurts. It hurts so bad. I claw at my neck, desperate to breathe. What is this? What's happening to me? I look at Andrew, eyes pleading for help. Silently begging him to call an ambulance, the police, the fire brigade. Anyone and everyone until someone saves me.

I'm enveloped in a hug, tight and controlled. My neck begins to feel wet. It takes me a few seconds to realise Andrew is sobbing himself, his form shuddering against mine.

"Please Amelia. Let me help you"