Sick Like Me (Sick Like #1)

Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

He’s done it to me again. In the course of five months, the man who called himself my boyfriend decided to lock me into a scenario where I was forced to have to spend time with his family once again.

How I had gone five months without seeing them again had been a mystery to me. I excused that I was busy with the new work project every time he had brought it up, and Owen hadn’t questioned it. I thought I was lucky.

But as I climbed out of his car to look up at the large terrace house he lived in, in the middle of a long street just a few streets down from the top of a mountain, I knew I was going to have to face the rest of the Greenwich household again.

I felt my stomach hit the floor, dragging behind me with every step I took up the uneven stone stairs to the front door which looked recently painted in a bright and vivid red colour.

I could think of a million ways I would want to spend my Easter time doing, and spending it with Owen and his family wasn’t on the list. They were a lovely bunch from what I remembered of them, but they weren’t the people I wanted to spend my time with .

I couldn’t help but wonder what Kota’s family were like. Was he closer to his mother or father? Did his older sister live at home or did she have a family of her own? Would they like me if they met me? Would they be as welcoming and as kind as the Greenwich’s, or would they hate me?

I did my best to dull all thoughts as we entered the front door at long last, met with a narrow hallway with a shoe rack stuck against the wall where and archway opened to the living room.

I watched as Owen kicked his shoes off beside the shoe rack, and follow his actions. We then walked into the living room which was open plan all the ay through to the back of the house where the kitchen sat.

Mrs Greenwich wandered around the kitchen, a playlist of soft acoustic music playing for an Amazon speaker, the one with a screen, sat on the windowsill for easy vision. Her short hair was pushed back with a plastic hairband, similar to one I would have worn when I was a child. She looked happy as she moved around the kitchen to mix items on top of the stove, then check food baking in the in-cabinet mounted oven.

I looked around the room, finding the walls were all white, save for the cut outs in the living room either side of the fireplace. The cut outs were painted a dark grey, with shelves along them. The cut out closest to the TV had rows of DVDs, while the other one contained books of all shapes and sizes.

Mr Greenwich sat on the grey material sofa covered in pillows with his eyes trained on the TV, a gaming controller in his hand. He moved his body side to side, as if he thought it would make his on-screen racing more effective.

I noted Kloe beside him, a book tucked into her hands and a fleece blanket covering her legs as she appeared to be wearing pyjamas. The way she held the book was criminal, the front page bent over the back of the book.

The family finally noticed the intrusion of Owen and I, and all smiled at us. “Ashton, welcome to our home,” Mrs Greenwich’s sing song voice greeted me from the kitchen.

I forced a smile at her as I made my way to the kitchen. “Hi Mrs Greenwich. Do you need any help over here?” I offered to which her smile grew—if that was even possible.

“Do you mind helping me set up the table, please?” She asked, her face flushed red from leaving over the stoves.

I smiled and nodded my head. The woman instructed me as to where everything was. From under the stairs, I grabbed the table cloth and the placemats, placing each one in front of each chair with a matching coaster.

I then made my way to the cutlery drawer and pulled out a set for each person before I laid the forks, knives and spoons out around the placemats. I stood back and admired my work with a nod.

Only then had I realised I had technically abandoned Owen, and so I rushed to book around the space for him. I found him with the games console controller in his own hands then.

I smiled faintly as he looked like a little kid, laughing and smiling as he won the race he was playing. He raised a hand to high five his father, while Kloe remained silent as she read the book despite the shaking of the sofa from the men beside her.

The family I was around reminded me of the kind of family I had wanted when I was growing up.

My parents had divorced three months after they had gotten married, when my mother was six months pregnant with me.

I was a single child, and neither of my parents had settled down until I was well into my late teens. My mother had already hit menopause by then, and was deemed infertile which left her and Franki childless. But he made the most of it, choosing to spend his money on their trips across the world.

My father had dated a few women since my mother ended things with him, but for the longest time, he always help a tiny bit of hope that she would come back to him. Only she never did, she finally remarried another man who she claimed to be her soulmate. So as of the last six years, he finally found himself a partner who he hoped was for the rest of his life.

I wanted the family the Greenwich’s seemed to have. I wanted a husband for the rest of my life, with two kinds who had their own personalities and made the home feel lived in.

“Is there anything else I can help with?” I finally turned back to Mrs Greenwich, who smiled and waved her hand to dismiss me.

“Go take a seat lovely, the dinner won’t be long now. I’ll call you if I need any help,” She turned back to the stove, turning knobs off before she rushed to the sink to drain the varying vegetables.

I did as the woman asked, and made my way to the living room. I sat on the single chair, not wanting to overcrowd the sofa. At the intrusion, Kloe looked up and offered me a small smile before she looked back down at her book.

I smiled back, leaning into the back of the comfortable chair. I crossed my arms over my body, trying to gain some warmth. Despite how modern the house looked, it lacked heat. I heard crackling, and realised the fireplace looked freshly lit with a few logs of wood inside.

I leant my head against the side of the chair, closing my eyes. I had slept in late, and I had gone to bed early, but I still felt exhausted. All I wanted was to sleep. I had gotten over my illness, but I was still suffering the after effects.

My traitor of a brain wandered to Kota. It wondered what he was doing, how he was feeling, if he has caught my illness too or not.

He had gone back to not answering my messages, but it stung. A lot less than it had months ago. I excused it as him sucking at replying, and I knew I shouldn’t have been excusing his actions. But a part of me couldn’t help it.

Maybe because what he did to me, I did to poor Owen .

I was a shit human being, I realised as I felt y lips twitch at the corners into the faintest of smiles once I heard the bickering of Owen and Kloe, while Mr and Mrs Greenwich shared loving comments in the back of the kitchen away from the chaos.

The family seemed to be perfect, loving and happy. And I felt like I didn’t fit in.

The fact I thought about breaking up with Owen at least once every day was revealing that it would have been the best thing to do. Not for me, but for him. He deserved the same kind of love his family had, the kind of love I worried I would never be able to offer him.

But he had thrown this on me. I couldn’t break up with him on the way to see his family. I couldn’t break up with him in front of his family, and ending things with him after he dropped me home sounded too harsh. I would have to give it a few days at least.

But each time the need to break up with him overcame me, something happened between us so I felt the need to give us a few days to register the events and lose some feelings once again before I tried.

But every day I saw him, he acted more and more in love with me.

But he didn’t know me. Not like how he thought. He wasn’t in love with me. He was in love with the idea of me. I wasn’t sure I had shown him at least half of the real me. But it wasn’t his fault, it was purely on me. I had chosen to keep most of myself hidden away from him for fear of corrupting him or making him hate me.

“Food’s ready,” The kind and soft voice of Mr Greenwich called into the room. I snapped my eyes open and stood, only to find Owen and Kloe had basically thrown themselves across the room already in fight for the plate with the most amount of food. Not that it mattered. Mrs Greenwich had cooked enough food to have bowls of left overs all over the table for us to go in for seconds.

It was getting harder and hard to act as if I was fine with the situation and the people around me. Had I been any other person, the life and family around me would have been ideal of me to agree to settle myself into.

But I wasn’t ‘any other person’.

I craved dark and deprived desires which I had no doubt if Owen knew at least 1% of what I wanted, he would go running for the hills screaming I was some wannabe serial killer bitch.

Let’s face it, what woman wanted to be used and abused? What normal woman wanted a man who could bring her to her knees in broken tears, just to build her back up stronger every time as if she were some queen?

Me, that’s the fuck who. I felt psycho for admitting it. I had only told Peyton a portion of how I felt and my desires, and while she seemingly tried to understand how I felt… I knew she couldn’t put herself in my shoes and a part of it disturbed her. Especially given her history.

I pulled up the chair beside Owen which had been left free for me. I smiled around at the others around the table before I reached immediately for the glass beside me. I went to pick up the jar which was full of water and lemon slices, but Owen beat me to it as he brought it over and poured some into the glass.

I smiled at him, mumbling a small, “Thanks.” Before I raised the glass to my lips. I sipped it slowly, then placed it back down before I picked my fork up.

I looked at the delicious food in front of me, but for some reason, I just couldn’t seem to stomach the idea of eating. I felt guilty for that, but the expression on my face must have been like an open book as I heard Mrs Greenwich speak up.

“I know you were unwell some days ago,” Mrs Greenwich’s voice sounded like a soft melody as she cut into her slices of chicken, her eyes on her plate but her voice targeted at me. “ Please don’t feel pressured to eat it all, Ashton. Eat as much as you can, and we can then wrap the rest up for you to take home and eat later if you like.”

The woman’s maternal behaviour reminded me of my own mother in some ways, even though she sometimes lacked the kind of care and attention a usual mother would have. Sometimes my mother treated me more like a best friend than her own child. But seeing and speaking to Mrs Greenwich, it made me miss my mother more than I had thought.

Sure, I missed seeing my mother quite often. But the struggle I found my brain and heart in called for specialist advice. Advice I knew her and my father would be more than willing to give me regardless of if it was warranted or not.

“Thank you,” I whispered back before I picked up a fork of mashed potatoes and shovelled it into my mouth.

And once again, my fucking traitorous mind wandered to him , wondering what food he was eating then too.