Adriana's Corner

Chapter 36

With every ounce of my might, I kick the box and throw the contents in my hand into said box with a crash.

"Aaargh!!!"

I don't want to be here.

In London.

In this apartment.

Organizing shipping.

Going through boxes of things that now mean nothing to me.

Crunching numbers with a married estate agent who isn't quite over me.

Any of the above.

On top of this, it's freezing cold, windy and the central heating chose this week to go on strike.

I want to go home, to my house, to my friends, to my café. Back to my corner of the world where I feel safe. Since the revelation about Lukas and the phone call with Miles, I've been about as anxious as a cupcake. I've hardly been in the flat at all the last few days, partly because I've been so busy and partly because I'm scared Miles will call. . .which he has.

I want to be angry at him: for not sharing, for not trusting me enough to tell me things, for being a hypocrite and for yelling at me for the first time...ever!

He never yells at me. He's almost yelled at me but never actually crossed that line of being so angry that he's literally yelled. I didn't like it but for all the wrong reasons. I should be furious he had the gall to do it when all I was trying to do was be nice but instead I'm worried.

Miles Freakishly Calm Hamilton Carmichael hates arguing. What happened that was so bad he felt the need to yell...at me? The person he "especially" doesn't like arguing with.

This query leaves me knowing that I'll eventually have to answer the seven messages and ten emails he left apologizing profusely.

This has left my list of 'reasons why Miles should and will leave' looking very nervous as it knows the more I talk to him, the smaller the list gets, especially considering most of the things on the list were written while furious at him.

With all of this going on, the infuriating situation with my parents has been bottled up. This is why there is now an array of smashed and crumpled photo's in a kicked and beaten box. I've been so frustrated at everything else, I thought the anger at my parents had subsided at least slightly.

The reaction to seeing a photo of them told me otherwise.

After kicking the box one final time, picking it up and throwing it in a cupboard as hard as I can, I collapse on my bed in a heap, too angry to cry, too exhausted to move and too cold to sleep.

I can't wait to go home. How did I tolerate this place before? This dark, depressing cold place.

The phone rings making me push my head further into the pillow.

"Nina..." Miles voice echo's through the house, "Please pick up. This is killing me." There's a silence and he sighs, "Nina? I don't want to tell you on the answer machine what happened but...my dad was at the wedding..." I pull my head out of my pillow with a frown, forgetting my smug parents' faces. "As was my ever judgmental ex-stepmother who confided in me rather kindly that she always hated me because I was so much like my mother..."

I practically throw myself off the bed and towards the phone.

"Miles?"

There's a silence for a moment.

"Nina? Oh thank goodness..." he sighs, "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before, I just..."

"I get it Miles." I but in, "It's fine."