This Man (Page 161)

Once I’ve taken care of the noise levels, I go in search of him, making my way through the open plan area. As I reach the stairs, I kick something and watch as it clatters across the floor. I pick up the glass bottle and place it on the console unit at the bottom of the stairs before taking them two at a time.

I go straight to the master suite, but he’s not in there. I proceed to frantically search every other room on the floor. He’s in none of them. Where is he? I get half way down the stairs, stopping abruptly when my eyes land on the empty bottle that I scooped up.

It’s vodka. Well, it was. It’s been drained dry.

A wave of uneasiness rolls over me as a million thoughts invade my head. I’ve never seen Jesse drink – not ever. Every time alcohol has been on offer, he’s refused, ordering water instead. It never occurred to me to wonder why. Have I ever seen him drink? No, I don’t think I have. Now, looking at the empty bottle of vodka placed carefully on the table and thinking about how carelessly it was tossed on the floor, something isn’t right.

‘Oh, please no.’ I whisper to myself.

His insistence on me not drinking on Friday comes rushing back into my mind like a tidal wave. Our little altercation in The Blue Bar, when he tried to force feed me some water, suddenly doesn’t seem so unusual or unreasonable.

I hear a crash, my eyes snapping from the empty bottle of vodka to the outside terrace. The huge glass doors are open. I sprint the rest of the way down the stairs, across the living space, skidding to a halt at the doors when I see Jesse struggling to get himself up from one of the sun loungers. Have I had my eyes closed for the past few weeks? I’ve missed so much.

He has a towel wrapped around his waist and a bottle of vodka in his hand, which he’s keeping a tight hold of as he fights to push himself up on his free arm. He’s swearing profusely.

I’m froze on the spot as I watch this man that I’ve fallen in love with, a physically powerful, passionate and captivating man, reduced to a drunken wreck. How did this slip past me? I’ve not even wrapped my head around all of the other shit that’s been landed on me today. And now this on top of everything else? What have I done to deserve this?

Once he’s hauled himself up, he turns to face me, his eyes hollow, his face washed out. It doesn’t look like him.

‘You’re too late, lady.’ he slurs viciously, glaring at me. He’s never looked at me like this before. He’s never spoken to me like this before. Not even when he’s been crazy mad with me. What’s happened to him?

‘You’re drunk.’ I blurt. What a stupid thing to say, but all other words have run, screaming very loudly, from my brain. My eyes have been tortured way past repair today.

‘That’s very observant of you.’ He lifts the bottle and swigs the rest of the vodka before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Not drunk enough, though.’ He walks forward purposely, and I instinctively move out of his way, knowing he would cause me damage if he crashed into me.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask as he passes me.

‘What’s it to you?’ he spits, without so much as looking at me. I follow him into the kitchen, watching as he drags another bottle of vodka from the freezer and tosses his empty into the sink. He starts unscrewing the cap. ‘Bastard!’ he hisses, shaking his hand. It’s then that I notice the mass of swelling and cuts marring it. He perseveres with the screw cap, eventually removing it before knocking back a huge swig.

‘Jesse, your hand needs looking at.’

He throws his hand up in front of him, taking another mouthful from the bottle. ‘Look then. Yet more damage you’ve caused.’ he snarls. I’ve caused? What’s he trying to say? That on top of everything else, I’ve pushed him over the edge to drink? ‘Yeah, you can stand there…stand there looking all bewildered…and…and…confused. I f**king told you!’ he shouts. ‘Didn’t I warn you? I…I warned you!’ He’s hysterical.

‘Warned me about what?’ I ask quietly, but I know what he’s going to say. This is the further damage I would cause if I left. This is what he won’t recover from. Things were more bearable with me around because he wasn’t drinking. Why?

He throws back more vodka. I try and mentally calculate how much he’s had. This is the third bottle I’ve seen, but what about the ones I haven’t? Can anyone drink that much?

‘Fucking typical.’ he shouts at the ceiling.

‘I didn’t know.’ I whisper.

He laughs. ‘You didn’t know?’ He points the bottle at me. ‘I said you would cause more damage if you left me, but you still left anyway. Now look at the f**king state of me.’

I flinch at his words. I feel like crying. Seeing him in this state makes me want to cry hard, but shock is controlling the tears. This is not the Jesse I know. This man is a stranger – a hurtful, cruel and merciless man, who I don’t love at all. I don’t need this man.

He starts pacing towards me. I back away. I don’t want to be anywhere near him. ‘That’s it, run away.’ He continues stalking forward, gaining on me with every step. ‘You’re a f**king prick tease, Ava. I can have you, then I can’t, then I can again. Make your f**king mind up!’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you’re an alcoholic?’ I ask as my back hits the wall. There’s no more retreating space. Why didn’t you tell me everything?

‘And give you another reason not to want me?’ he spits. He then seems to consider something. ‘I’m not an alcoholic!’