He Believed His Ex More Than He Believed Me Chapter 03
I shot to my feet and struck my knee on the table, knocking over a glass. Red wine splashed across Nolan’s shirt, and the room fell silent.
He slowly blotted the stain, tendons standing out across his hand. Unable to breathe, I crouched and dug my fingers into the carpet.
“Take me home, Nolan. Please.”
Once, he would have covered my head with his coat and carried me outside. This time he only stared at me.
“Are you finished?”
Vanessa caught his sleeve. “Don’t blame her.
“It’s withdrawal, and if you take her home now, the intensive exposure will have been for nothing.”
Nolan closed his eyes, then sat down again. He picked up his water and said quietly, “Stand up on your own, Noelle, and come back to your seat.”
I looked up at him through tears. All I could see was how closely he sat beside Vanessa.
She passed him a napkin and let her fingertips linger against his palm. He did not pull away.
“What if I can’t get up?” I asked, my tears falling onto the carpet.
Only tired indifference remained in Nolan’s eyes. “Then stay there.
“I’m not helping you again.”
Someone murmured, “Nolan finally grew a spine.”
Vanessa raised her glass and tapped it against his. “You’re doing great.”
Conversation resumed. No one checked whether I could breathe, and Nolan joined their laughter.
The thread I had held tight inside me for three years suddenly snapped. My nails tore into the carpet until blood gathered along their edges, but I felt no pain.
I slowly stood. Nolan seemed relieved.
“That’s better,” he said. “The whole room doesn’t need to revolve around you.”
Holding the wall for support, I left the private room and walked into the rain. Nolan did not follow.
Cold water soaked my skirt and crept up my legs.
With trembling hands, I took out my phone and tried to call my psychiatrist, but darkness swallowed my vision before I could press the button.
When I woke, Nolan stood over my bed with a medicine cup. “You had acute pneumonia and ran a fever for two days.”
I instinctively reached for my phone, but it was gone. “Give it back.”
Nolan avoided my eyes. “Vanessa said you kept reading depressing support-group posts and contacting your old psychiatrist for controlled medication.
“That interferes with desensitization.”
“You can’t keep relying on medication or those conservative treatment methods.”
Vanessa walked in carrying a notebook. “I already spoke with Dr. Elaine Brooks.
“Her plan relies too heavily on medication and doesn’t fit your current stage.”
“I deleted her number so she couldn’t disrupt the treatment.”
Nolan offered me the cup. “Drink, and stop looking at her like that.”
I did not take it. His patience vanished, and he set it on the table.
“You’ll get your phone back when you can live like a normal person.”
I did not beg. There was nothing left in my eyes.
My stare made Nolan uneasy. He grabbed his coat and said, “I’m taking you somewhere.”
Half an hour later, he led me into an abandoned warehouse. Rust rolled from the basement when he opened its door.
Under a dim light sat the ruined shell of a car. The hood was crushed, and the windshield was a web of shattered glass.