My ex-husband's nightmare - Chapter 89: Chapter 89

Zoe
I slammed my journal shut for the fifth time since I opened it. Leaning into the chair, I placed my head on the headrest and closed my eyes.
It's been two days since I met Lydia, but I couldn't wipe our conversation off my head. My chest tightened, and breathing became hard. I didn't try to fight it this time.
Whenever I thought of Lydia, my body reacted the same way. Chest tightened, and breaths became short.
When I first left the country after her death, it had taken me six months to get over it, and over fifty sessions with my therapist.
In her words, “guilt was equal to remorse, it's deep regret for what has been done. We can't control guilt just like how we can't control the past, but we can control the present and the way we react to the feeling.”
She would always repeat these words and soon embedded them in my mind. I found myself repeating it like a mantra anytime I felt suffocated. Like now.
It felt as though a second person was in my room; the windows were open, but no air seemed to be coming in.
I tried to open my eyes, but it didn't work. Sweat slid down my back at the same time, and warm tears rolled down my cheeks.
But how could my therapist understand this feeling, like being drowned in water, but this time it was just that it wasn't water but air.
Drowning in air, that doesn't even make sense?
I was back at the scene. Muffled noise came from my mouth as I tried to scream while struggling underneath him.
The door soon pushed open, and she entered. I tried to pull him away from her when he pounced on her, but he was too strong.
I turned my head to the other side, trying desperately to break this nightmare I was having in broad daylight, but all my efforts were to no avail.
The scene continued, and I held the gun. Blood soon splashed everywhere. I shot him, I killed my stepdad, Jared..
Lydia stopped struggling and pushed him away. She crawled to me and held the gun.
When my mom and Mason rushed into the room, they blamed her. I could see the hurt, the disappointment, and the look of betrayal as she was blamed for his murder and the lies my mom spilled.
As always, whenever it got to this part, I would try to speak, to tell the truth, but I couldn't.
It felt like I was being tossed from a high mountain and jotter back to reality.
My body shook. My teeth clatter in my mouth, and my vision becomes blurry. My heart hurt, and I felt my head banging. I didn't stop the tears.
I moved to my bed. When I heard the knock on the door, if it came the third time, “Miss Zoe, are you alright?” A voice asked.
The knock came again. I hadn't realised I had screamed. “Miss, are you fine? Should I come in?” I recognised the voice as Cynthia. She was the maid assigned to me.
“I'm okay.” I replied, trying to make my voice firm, “Don't worry about me.” I didn't relax until I could no longer hear her receding steps.
I gathered myself on the bed and sat on the far end. I placed my feet on the bed and rested my head on my knees.
“I'm sorry, Lydia, I'm so sorry,” I whispered. My heart hammered within my chest.
I should have done something that day. I shouldn't have stayed silent.
It took over two hours for my breath to return back to normal.
Maybe I should call my therapist. But I decided against it. I haven't spoken to her since I returned. We had planned to continue our session limiting it to once a week instead of the usual three times a week.
However, I always found the perfect excuse for why our session shouldn't be held as planned.
I don't know when I fell asleep. I woke up to Mason tapping lightly on me.
“Zoe.” He called gently.
I stirred and slowly opened my eyes. The room was dark aside from the dim light from the bed lamp.
“You skipped dinner. You've been sleeping all day.” His voice was drenched with concern as he sat on the bed. The foam sank in from his weight.
“Are you good? You've been in your room all day.” He said. I yawned and turned slowly, getting up.
I gave a slight nod, looking at the door. I thought I locked it. How did he come inside?
He followed my line of gaze and, as if he could hear my question, he answered, “I took the spare key you didn't open when I knocked, nor did you pick up your phone when I called.” Now he sounded worried.
“I fell asleep. I didn't hear when you knocked, and my phone is on silent.” I reached for my phone and turned it on. True to his word, he had called multiple times.
He placed one hand on my head and the other on his.
I moved backwards so his hand fell on the bed. “I said I'm fine.” My tone was defensive.
He twisted his lips as he stared at me. “You look a mess.” He inhaled sharply, “I'll drop it since you claim to be fine.” I was grateful for his thoughtfulness.
“But you need to eat something. The last time you ate was when we had breakfast together, and that's over 13 hours ago.” His tone is soft, his eyes never leaving me.
I moved to the edge of the bed, placing my foot on the floor where I stood.
“I'm fine. I don't mind sleeping without eating, it's already late.”
“There's no way you'd be sleeping soon, you've been sleeping all day.” He paused when I went into the bathroom.
“Let's go out and have something then, ice-cream would do.” He said when I returned.
I wanted to object. My head still felt heavy, but I knew if I stayed another second in my room, then the suffocating feeling would return.
“Alright,” I said after much hesitation. “I'll meet you downstairs.” After he left, I walked into my closet and chose a very simple dress.
Mason had his eyes pinned on the screen of his phone when I stepped into the sitting room. He lifted his head when he noticed my arrival.
“Let's go,” I said, and he rose to his feet, shuffling his phone into his pocket.
Mason tried to make small talk all the way to the restaurant. I appreciated his effort, but I was in no mood for small talk.
When he noticed I wanted to stay quiet, he stopped speaking.
My eyes watched each car as it sped past us. The sinking feeling in my stomach has refused to go away.
It has been a long time since I felt this way, this low. I couldn't point out what triggered it. One minute, I was trying to write out how meeting Lydia made me feel, and the next, I was suffocating.
I alternated for food when Mason pulled over at the parking lot, so we ended up in the restaurant at the Huttons building instead.
As I ate, I felt Mason's eyes on me, his gaze was piercing. I don't look up, I am sure that he has questions. Questions I probably don't have answers to.
“Are you going to tell me what's wrong now? And don't you say it's nothing.” He said. I was halfway done with my food.
I chewed gently and then slowly raised my head to meet his gaze. He didn't rush me; instead, he pushed the glass of water closer.
“I'm not fine,” I admitted after taking a sip from the water and returning the glass to the table.
“But at least allow me to finish eating, I always knew you took joy in seeing me starve to death.” I tried to joke to mitigate the stiff air hovering over us.
“Finish up then,” in contrast, his voice was serious.
I took my time with the food. Various thoughts drifted in my mind, and there was no way I could tell him the truth about what was bothering me.
Aside from feeling guilty for what happened to Lydia as a result of what I said, I felt guilty towards Mason. I hurt him as well. He lost his wife and love of his life because of me.
A drop of tears fell on my plate.
Mason's phone rang at that time. I stabbed my plate of rice with my spoon.
Mason didn't leave the table as he spoke. “I'm out right now.” There was a pause. “Right now? You found news about her?”... “Alright. I'll be there tomorrow.” A longer pause.
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.” Mr Johnson was a private investor. I don't know him personally, but I know he works for my family.
What was Mason investigating?
After eating, it was time to speak, but I couldn't. Immediately, my eyes met those of Mason's, and I burst into tears.
He was by my side the next minute, “I want to go home.” My voice broke as I spoke. “Please take me home.”