Chapter 218

Natasha’s POV

~ Life after Sophie ~

I watch Arrick push his food around his plate distractedly, eyes on what he’s doing, yet he seems
completely detached from the here and now. We’re in a busy restaurant, the food is good, the company
not so much; he has barely said two words the whole time we have been here, and he has had about
four beers with dinner so far.

Arrick never drinks excessively, normally, but I guess this sums up our life of the past three weeks. I’m
irritated, upset but I am trying to keep the pleasantries going. I am trying so hard to not let it get to me,
to keep a smile on my face, a positive outlook that we can get through this bump in the road of our
relationship, but he makes it so hard.

I try not to watch him too much as I eat my own food and give up on small talk. His nods and ‘hmm’
responses make me want to throw my wine glass at him, and I am trying to avoid all forms of nagging
or bickering while things between us are a little fragile. He’s been a vacant, distant nightmare, since I
caught him with his face glued to that trampy little bitch, he calls his best friend. I’m glad she’s gone;
she has been nothing but an eternal thorn in my side for two years of our life together, always there,
like a third wheel, monopolizing his attentions and getting between us, but Arrick being Arrick, you can’t
say anything about it, criticize their friendship in any way. You can never criticize Sophie, for all that is
holy, it is the one topic that makes the dick side of Arrick come out to play.

I hate her with a passion, I always did. He doesn’t like clingy or jealous girls, abhors them.... that is
unless it’s her and she is disgustingly both. A jealous and immature, clingy, needy little girl, that I really
never thought would ever have a chance of being the whore who entrapped him with sex.

It completely hit me from the left side, the last thing I ever expected. She always seemed so much like
an annoying bratty sister to him; and the way he was with her, the affections which drove me crazy, the



little in jokes and touchy feely between them. I hated it, but I never thought it was something I should
worry about. I never thought that he would be capable of cheating on me at all, never with her. That
child!

He isn’t the type, and I guess I can’t really blame him for looking for sexual gratification in some slut
that was only too willing to give. Looking back with open eyes it’s obvious her puppy eyes for him were
never innocent. I don’t really like sex, and he does. It’s not that he isn’t good at it, it’s I don’t happen to
like it at all, and even though he has given me more than my fair share of orgasms, I just do not hunger
for it the way he does. Hate the messiness, the awkwardness, having him face to face and wanting to
make out and lay hands on me, in really inappropriate places. Wants to do things with his mouth, that I
find wholly shocking. The sweatiness, squirminess and full on suffocating aspect of sex, embarrassing
postures, and noises and how long it takes him to actually finish.

I always thought that I would get married before I ever had sex with anyone, after all that is how I was
raised, but then I had a teen boyfriend who pushed me into it, and it’s ruined for me, for an eternity. Sex
still feels a little bit sinful, very dirty, and shameful when we have it, and I’m holding out hope that after
we get married, I’ll lose the guilt and maybe enjoy it a little bit more.

Arrick used to get a little bit dominant, in the beginning of our relationship and sex was all he seemed to
think about, drunk usually, as he seemed to party a lot more back then. I just felt pressured to play
along, act like I liked it rougher, harder, constant. I didn’t. I would rather read a book, bake a cake, or
clean my apartment. He never seemed satisfied after we were done, ready to go again only short hours
later and I used to wonder if all men wanted to constantly do that kind of thing.

Over the years he just seemed to accept that I wasn’t really into it, and as long as I gave him sex every
so often, in bed, with him on top, then we never brought it up again. I preferred it that way and I learned
how to push it along to make him finish quicker. Lack of it certainly cut down his start to finish time,
especially if I used my hand first and got him along a bit before allowing him to penetrate. Messy,
awkward, but quick, and then he would let me alone to sleep.



I can’t say I blame him then, that he wanted to screw her. He clearly misses that part of our
relationship, the more adventurous sex, and I’ll be willing to revisit it when we start to get physical
again. Right now, we seem to be plodding along and he hasn’t tried to initiate any sort of sex at all. It’s
like he’s here, but he’s not, and even though I’m the one who has the right to be upset and angry, I feel
like I’m walking on eggshells with him instead.

He hasn’t attempted to kiss me, let alone have sex, for almost two months, even before our breakup.
Maybe longer, I lost count when we first hit a rough patch, and I cannot remember the last time he
kissed me, with some meaning. It’s been a month of no Sophie, and now I know she was the reason of
the lack of it the month before, I feel justified in my hate of her. Trampy little homewrecker. Good
riddance.

“Are you done? Can we go?” Arrick snaps my attention up, and I realize he’s downed his fifth beer,
thrown his fork messily on top of his left-over food, which he barely touched, and is already putting his
jacket on. He hasn’t even given me time to finish, or even seems to acknowledge that I have not done
eating. I stare at him coolly and bite down the irritated urge to frown at him. Stomach tightening with
both anger and anxiety.

This is exactly the crappy attitude from him lately that irks me so much. He is the one who should be
groveling to me for what he has done to us yet has the nerve to act the way he is.

“No, I wasn’t” I smile brightly, paste on my happy face, the one which says everything is going to be
okay, and try not to let him get to me. I should be used to this side of him, it’s predominant most of the
time. Closed up, internalized and emotionally blank. It’s worse than it ever used to be, but he’s always
had this way about him. It’s one of the things I always liked. That he wasn’t overly emotional or needy
as a man, didn’t paw at me excessively, he didn’t burden me with his problems or overshared all his
personal stuff. He just takes care of them, on his own, like a man should.



“I want to go. Stay if you want.” He looks over my head at nothing, then glances down as he lifts his cell
and I catch him scanning the screen with that infuriating frown on his face. He does this about a
hundred times a day, since he made her leave; he doesn’t know I am aware of it, but I am. It drives me
insane. Always checking his god damn cell, obsessively, always looking disappointed when he picks it
up. He’s so transparent in that moment and it riles a rage in me that’s burning hot.

I tense, grip my fork and steady myself to take a long breath. Cool my temper expertly and remain
unchanged outwardly. Why can’t he just forget about her? Let it go? Why can’t he focus on the fact that
he should be making me forgive him?

“I’m coming now.” I answer with a tighter tone, then have to scold myself for losing my cool with him.
This isn’t the way to mend things; by being short with him, by being snappy. He hates that, he is more
than likely to walk off and leave me here and put it down to me being moody. He has very little patience
with moods. I must try harder.

I get up to follow, annoyed that for once he doesn’t pull my chair out or help me with my coat, he just
throws money on the table and turns to leave. My temper flares at this complete lack of manners. He
normally has impeccable manners and I look around at other diners, to see if anyone notices how
blatantly rude he is being. I sigh with relief at the lack of eyes aimed our way and follow him with my
bag and coat at speed, to catch up, trying to push down my annoyance and not look rushed.

“Where too now?” I press, as I come level with him and crunch my hands into fists when I see him
scrolling his cell again, looking at his call list. The knot of anger and upset deep down, moving up my
chest like burning hot coals, and for the first time I want to shake him. I can’t stand this anymore. I bite
my tongue and keep my mouth shut, almost hurting my teeth with the effort and clenching.

“Home for you... I’m meeting Nate for a late-night training session.” He doesn’t look my way, doesn’t
even ask if that is okay, or if I even want to go home. Just his decision and I’m being palmed off again.
He’s done this almost every time I see him for the last month. Short time together, where he barely



speaks about anything much, and then he drops me off, so he can go meet his trainer or his brother, or
anyone else that is not me. I’m getting beyond fed up with this, and I have barely been in his apartment
for weeks.

I feel like crying, but I don’t. I bottle it up and remind myself that this is just a phase. A little bump in the
road, an adjustment period. Time for him to forget that hussy and what she has done to his head.
Sophie really has done a number on him. I don’t get it at all; what he saw in her. She was a high
maintenance, spoiled child, who tantrummed and stropped, who always demanded her own way and
made life a strain. It’s like she weaved a magical spell over him, whenever she was around, and he
only ever saw her. Trying to compete with it was futile, the way all his attention would be for her only,
the way he changed when she was around; immature, playful, irritating, and lost some of the cool
control. I hated all of it.

I like that he’s responsible, sensible, quiet and respected. I like that people look up to him and he has a
name in business, if only he would stop dipping into that awful fighting scene he likes so much and
focus on being more like his brother. Jake has it sorted out, marriage, children, work. A nice house in
the Hampton’s and a very calm and family orientated lifestyle. I can see us having all that too.

“I think I may stay with you tonight.” I state bravely as he ushers me out into the cool night air and puts
his hand up to hail a cab. He doesn’t look my way, so I continue, holding my breath adding some flirty
tones to my voice, lowering my lashes, and fluttering coyly. “We could maybe try and rekindle some
intimacy.”

I watch him for a change in his demeanor, but it’s like I haven’t said a word. He has never turned down
sex, not once in the last two years when I offered it. Not that I did very often. This is the first time I have
offered since all the mess of that night, so he should be jumping on it, especially with a libido like his.

“I’m not feeling great, I want to go to training and go home to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He glances
at me fleetingly, not really even trying to sound apologetic, and goes back to hailing a cab and it makes



me feel like stomping my foot.

Why am I the one who is trying so hard?

“Stop it.” I snap at him; it comes out of nowhere and my voice waivers. I regret it instantly, losing my
cool and baring my temper in such a way, but I have had enough of this behavior, this eternal distance
and lack of effort on his part.

Does he forget what he did? What he’s doing to me?

I have tried to ignore all of it, to move on, but he’s just not trying to meet me halfway.

“Stop what?” He turns and has the nerve to actually look confused, all caught up in his own head and
oblivious to my feelings, again, like always. I love him so much at times, and yet sometimes it’s like he
is just not there with me at all and completely oblivious to my feelings.

“Stop pushing me away.... You make me feel so unwanted.” I start to cry and try to fight it. Hating that I
am making a spectacle of myself in front of him, and grab for a tissue in my handbag. Tears are a last
resort in my arsenal and usually when I decide he should see them, but for once, these ones are real,
and I have no control. Arrick sighs and drops his hand from trying to hail a cab on the busy sidewalk.
He comes to me and pulls me in for a hug, a loose embrace and cradles my head against his chest.
Patting me on the back lightly.

It’s the first real contact we have had in weeks, and it just feels forced and awkward, like it did the night
in the elevator when he confessed everything to me. I try to ignore it and just enjoy this rare bodily
contact. I love his muscular strong frame and big build, so safe and powerful, and wonder if other
people admire how good we must look together.



“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m just not myself right now, and things at work have been
tough lately.” He sounds genuine, but I know it’s not entirely true. I heard him on his cell to Jake, and
Nathan, many a time in the past couple of weeks. He’s zoning out on them as much as he is with me,
and everyone seems to be annoyed at his lack of engagement lately. His head isn’t with any of us and
work is something he has been avoiding.

I refuse to believe that she has this effect on him. It’s just a phase, a little bubble of depression that he
will get through. I want to believe it’s guilt for what he has done to us instead, that’s an acceptable
reason and would make better sense. I won’t let her take credit for this zombie state he exists in. She
doesn’t deserve this much of him; he’s mine and mine alone, and he chose me. He’s here with me. I
won.

I pull back and look up at him lovingly, testing the waters, searching for a hint that he may reject me
and for once he looks normal. Absent, unemotional, but that is normal for him. I rise up on tiptoes and
kiss him boldly, mouth closed of course because anything more is not proper for public affection. Lips
meet for a second, so familiar, soft meeting masculine, a kiss I used to love so much, but he tenses,
gives me a chaste response and pulls away, his arms dropping around me as he puts distance
between us. He avoids my eye and that frown across his brow unsettles me.

“I’ll get a cab... I really am tired, Tash.” He dodges eye contact completely and goes back to hailing a
cab for us. Looking relieved when one pulls into the sidewalk for us and opens the door like a
gentleman. That at least makes me feel warmer, smiling again as he opens the door. I go to get in, but
he pauses me with a hand on my arm and a steady look on his face that gives me nothing.

“You take this...... I need some air, and the walk will do me good. I’ll be better. I promise.” He sighs at
me so regretfully, a hint of guilt shining through and I cannot do anything except nod, even if inside I
feel bitterly disappointed and again let down. I wanted a proper evening together and we have only had
dinner.



I want to believe, trust him again. I want so desperately for this to work, so I don’t argue, I don’t
complain, I never do. I learned in the early days that fuss and drama get you fights, and that doesn’t
make for happy couples and stable homes. Arrick hates drama.

I lean up and kiss him on the cheek, smooth his jacket down, remove some lint from his collar and get
into the cab. He shuts the door on me before I get a chance to say anything and we pull away from the
sidewalk quickly with his pat on the roof to signal to go. I watch him as we leave him, turning in my seat
to look behind me and he has already started to head away from where we parted. He looks so lost in
that moment, head down and hands pushed into his pockets that my heart breaks with the sad sight of
him and pray I have enough strength to get us back from this, to undo the spell that little witch has cast
on him and remove the burden of her from his brain.

I don’t ever want to lose him, and I won’t. I’m better than her. I will cling on and persevere because I
know that he chose me and that means he loves me more than he loves her.

He’s mine, he always will be. I love him.


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