"How was the party?" Jake asks the second I walk in the door.
My sunglasses fit snugly to my face, and to be honest, I feel like a metal band is playing in my head.
"Fine," I reply, without much enthusiasm and wobble my way into our bedroom.
I flop down on the bed, bury my nose in the pillows that smell faintly of Jacob's aftershave, and pray for the peaceful world of sleep to take me—and do it quickly.
It doesn't; I'm left lying on the bed, head throbbing and room spinning. I feel like crap.
An hour or so later, the bed depresses next to me. Jacob leans in and pulls the cover down from my face.
"Hey, are you asleep?" He asks.
"No, I'm sitting here with my eyes closed for the fun of it." My voice is gravelly and raspy from too many cigarettes and vodka. I can't help the irritation that comes over me.
"Okay…"
We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, before Jacob lies down next to me.
"I missed you last night." His arms wrap around me from behind, his lips run along the length of my neck.
Goose bumps break out across my skin. This should feel good. It usually does, but right now, it's alien; unwelcome; unwanted…
My body is craving a different set of arms.
I feel guilty straight away; I feel like I've betrayed my husband.
Somewhere along the line, I notice that my pillow is damp, and my body is shaking with sobs. Jacob pulls me closer, whispers something in my ear, that I'm sure is supposed to be reassuring. It's not; it makes things worse, and soon I'm dry heaving, and pulling away. I need to escape the prison of his arms.
I'm a terrible person.
"Bella, Babe, what's wrong?" His face is creased with concern.
I don't answer. I get up and flee into the guest room, locking the door behind me.