When He Dumped Me in a Fire

Adalind’s P.O.V

Other than a few charred windows and wallpaper, it was shocking for me to find out that my entire apartment hadn’t burned to cinders. Rather I must have been so stressed and freaked out that I imagined the fire licking across my curtains in the sitting room. Also, my antique bookshelf wasn’t broken or burnt like I’d thought. Hell, almost all the other parts of my house were untouched, left for the bad smoke smell and soot on the wallpaper that made everything black.

Realizing, I mustn’t have been trapped under the bookshelf was also wild to me. So I just laid on the ground after I tripped and broke my ankle, my brain going amok and telling me I was trapped under the bookshelf.

The fire only affected my kitchen and a renovation wasn’t something I could afford yet so after being discharged from the hospital four days after the incident, I was eating from disposable paper plates whilst struggling to move around my apartment and then back to work with a healing broken ankle.

It wasn’t only my ankle that broke too, I had to repair my phone screen and still, Nick hadn’t reached out to me to know what happened, if I was alive or dead.

BANG! BANG!

I jerked up from my bed at the noise at my front door, feeling my heart thump right out of my chest. “I’m coming!” I yelled, annoyed at the incessant pounding of a fist against wood. Today was my day off and I wasn’t expecting any visitors so who could it be?

Transferring my body weight to my good foot, I hopped down the hall and into the living room, until I got to the door and clicked it open.

Oh. my mouth went dry at the sight of the figure propped against my doorway, arms akimbo with his ankles crossed in such a lazy position that sent a flicker of irritation through me.

Nick.

From the shock on his face, he must have expected a hug or something, but I simply left the door open and returned to a couch in the living room.

A couple of seconds later, I heard the sound of the door closing and then his footsteps as he entered the room.

“Fuck, I’m starving baby!” He went straight to the kitchen without stopping by me and my fist clenched in anger.

“Holy shit! Did a demon from hell visit your kitchen?” His voice bounced through the walls and soon his head popped through the space dividing the kitchen from the living room. “What the hell happened in here?”

I ignored him and he snickered. “Right, I told you to stop entering that kitchen. You might be one of the best junior doctors in the hospital but your cooking skills would put your dear mother to shame and you know she was the best.”

As usual, Nick continued to run his big mouth, mocking my cooking, and all the while, he didn’t notice the slight bruises on my face and the glaring bandages on my swollen ankle. He didn’t even bother to apologize to me for how he had dumped me for his ex-girlfriend’s birthday and the heartbreaking things he’d said about me to her.

I gritted my teeth in a silent simmering angle and bit back my retort. He was such a waste of breath sometimes. As I tried to pick myself up from the couch, still giving him the silent treatment, Nick materialized in front of me with his brows twisted in a huge frown.

“Get out of my way,” I said simply, managing to sound neutral and bland.

But he planted his feet even wider and his hands stopped fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he’d been undressing. “Are you mad at me because of Juliette?”

His words somehow felt like a hot iron rod piercing my heart because the way he intoned it was as if I was just being dramatic. Suddenly, tears stung my eyes and I fiercely blinked them back.

“Fuck off, Nick.” I snapped and used all my body weight to push him out of the way before angrily hopping off to my bedroom.

I could feel his laser stare burning into me as I walked off but he didn’t stop me once. As the first few tears began to drop from my eyes, I heard my front door slam shut and without checking, I knew he’d stormed off.

My cheeks grew even wetter as more tears escaped my lids. This wasn’t the first time Nick and I would have an argument or quarrel. Hell, I’d say in our relationships, we had more fights than good times, yet every single time we exchanged heated words, I was always the one to apologize first and beg for his forgiveness.

Balling my fingers into tight fists, I wiped off the tears, damned near scratching my own face. That time was over. I would never beg him first or accept him back unless he reached out first and showed he was sorry truly and genuinely.