I couldn’t face him. Not ever.
“Neala, just . . . tell me what happened.”
I scrunched my face up in disgust, making my mother chuckle.
“I don’t want the dirty details; just tell me what happened before the nastiness occurred.”
Nastiness?
I shook my head clear and walked over to my dresser.
“Nothing much happened, Ma,” I said as I got underwear and pyjamas from my drawers.
“Put the pyjamas back; you’re wearing a onesie to dinner just like me.”
She placed the onesie on the end of my bed, and to avoid it I looked up to the ceiling and closed my eyes.
Please help me, Jesus.
“I’m not going to dinner,” I repeated.
“Yeah, you are, and don’t give me the ‘nothing happened’ speech. You and Darcy hated one another. So something happened for sex to happen.”
I knew I’d made a mistake in talking to her the moment she said the word sex. She knew Darcy; he was like a son to her.
“I don’t know, Ma . . . We just got to talking without arguing for once and we went down memory lane and hashed a lot of bullshit out. We apologised, and even called a truce. There was even talk of something possibly happening between us, because we admitted to fancying one another.”
My mother nodded and said, “That sounds pretty great to me, but you’re very upset, so what’s the kicker?”
She never missed a thing.
“I overheard him tell Sean and Justin this morning that the wine we drank caused us to make the mistake of sleeping together.” I looked down to my bare feet and frowned. “The thing is, the wine didn’t even affect me; my part in it was down to my sober mind . . . I didn’t think it was a mistake, and I feel sick that Darcy regrets it . . . regrets me.” I turned around and looked back up to the ceiling and willed away the tears that were building up in my eyes. “This is bollocks,” I snapped. “I hated him a few days ago . . . I don’t know how I’ve landed meself in this position. It sucks.”
My mother cleared her throat from behind me. “This will sound cheesy, but there really is a thin line between love and hate.”
I growled, “I do not love Darcy, Mother.”
I knew I didn’t love him. If I did, I would surely feel like I was dying without him.
My mother grinned. “Fine: a thin line between like and hate, then.”
Oh, she was so funny.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I deadpanned.
My mother gave me a sad smile. “Relationships, even brand-new ones, are not easy, sweetheart. You have to constantly work at them, but if they weren’t worth the risk of a broken heart, you would never have taken the chance in the first place.”
My mother’s words hurt my already broken heart.
“What are you saying?” I asked tearfully.
My mother stood and walked over to me.
She kissed my forehead and said, “I’m saying, don’t give up on Darcy so easily. You don’t want to – otherwise you wouldn’t be crying over him so much. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
I closed my eyes as she left my room and I was alone once more. I sank to the floor and tried to organise my thoughts, but I couldn’t.
My mind was a mess.
Don’t give up on Darcy.
My mother’s voice echoed my thoughts.
I cried softly.
My mother was wrong, because I hadn’t given up on Darcy; he had given up on me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I opened my eyes when a knock sounded on my bedroom door.
I wanted to scream out and tell whoever it was to go away, but it was Christmas, and no matter how shitty I was feeling or how down I was, I wouldn’t take it out on my family.
“Yes?” I called out.
A throat cleared. “It’s me.”
Everything stopped.
My breathing.
My heartbeat.
Time.
“Go away,” I managed to get out after a long period of silence.
I watched as the knob on my bedroom door turned, and the door slowly opened until all six feet three inches of Darcy stepped into my room wearing black jeans, black boots, messy hair in a sexy styled way . . . and a red Santa jumper?
My mother, I thought.
She always made us wear something ‘Christmassy’ to dinner on Christmas; it was a tradition we’d had going for years. My onesie was the item she’d chosen for me this year. I remembered her mentioning it to me a few weeks ago. I always tried to get out of wearing the silly outfits, but my mother kept the clothes for me to wear at her house and when I showed up, she made me change or I got no dinner.
I had put it on a few minutes after she left me alone. I looked down at myself and sighed. I was a snow woman; the hood of my hoodie also doubled as a snowman facemask if you pulled it down far enough. It was comfortable, though, so I couldn’t really complain.
I forgot about my stupid onesie, though, when Darcy closed my bedroom door and turned to face me.
“Hey, my Neala Girl.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head as I lay back on my bed. My heart thudded against my chest, and my stomach churned.
“Don’t call me that, Darcy,” I whispered.
I heard him take a few steps over to me.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
My anger and hurt unleashed itself.
“Don’t,” I snapped, and jumped to my feet. “Don’t come in here because you feel bad, or because my brother made you. I don’t want to hear your lies, so get the fuck out and leave me alone! I told you I never wanted to see or speak to you ever again. What part of that didn’t you understand?”
My skin was burning with rage, and my hands hurt from squeezing them together so tightly when Darcy stood his ground and didn’t even flinch at my shouting.
“I’m here of my own accord, not because I was forced to come,” he stated. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean any of what I said.”
Bull. Shit.
“Yes, you did! You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it. I wasn’t in the room; I didn’t argue with you or make you say anything out of anger. A question was put to you and you answered it . . . honestly.”
Darcy lifted his hands to his face and then slid them down behind his neck. “I didn’t answer it honestly. I swear on me life it wasn’t the truth.”
I shook my head and listened to what my mind was telling me.
He was lying.
“There you go,” Darcy snapped at me.
I furrowed my eyebrows together. “What?” I asked.
“You already have your bloody mind made up. You always fucking do this – you don’t give me a chance to prove meself to you. You blame everything on me and don’t believe a thing I say!” he shouted.
Was that a fucking joke?
“When have you ever tried to prove yourself to me?” I screamed.
Darcy dropped his arms from his neck and turned. I kept my eyes narrowed when he turned back to face me.
“I thought I proved meself to you last night,” he said, his voice low.
I stared at him blankly, unblinking. “I bared meself to you last night. I put meself and me feelings on the line. I thought you did too; then you showed your true colours this morning.”
Darcy blew out a big breath and looked up to the ceiling. “What do I have to do to make you believe I was lying to Sean and Justin?”
I swallowed. “You can’t do anything.” I turned around and climbed onto my bed. “Just . . . just go away. Please.”
I hated how much I wanted to kiss him or touch him in some way, but I forced myself to turn and face my bedroom wall as I lay on my bed. I knew Darcy didn’t leave, because I could hear his fast-paced breathing.
My bed dipped moments later and arms came around me as Darcy lay beside me and pulled me into him. My heart jumped and it took every fibre of my being not to turn and wrap myself around him. I was grateful for his comforting touch, though. I didn’t
realise how much I needed it until he snuggled up against me.
“I don’t regret you, we weren’t a mistake, and I do want you,” he said, squeezing me with each pause in his sentence.