Chapter 175
Iris
The baseball bat connects with the wall with a sickening crack as Arthur ducks just in time, letting out a surprised yelp.
“Holy shit!” I shriek, the bat slipping from my hands and clattering to the floor. “Arthur! I almost took your head off!”
Arthur straightens up, his eyes wide in the dim light. “Were you trying to kill me?”
“I heard noises! I thought someone broke in.” I explain, pressing a hand to my racing heart. “I forgot you were here.”
We both look at the wall where my bat made contact. There’s a sizable dent in the drywall, with small cracks spider–webbing out from the center of impact. If Arthur had been a second slower, that would have been his skull.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, horrified. “I just… I was half–asleep and scared and
Arthur starts laughing. Not just a chuckle, but full–blown laughter that makes his shoulders shake. I stare at him, bewildered by his reaction, until the absurdity of the situation hits me too.
A giggle escapes me, then another, until I’m laughing just as hard as he is. It’s been so long since we’ve laughed together like this, the sound almost unfamiliar but so, so welcome.
“You should have seen your face,” Arthur manages between fits of laughter. “You looked like you were going to war.”
“I thought I was!” I protest, wiping tears from my eyes. The dent in the wall catches my attention again, and I wince. “My landlord is going to kill me.”
Arthur follows my gaze, then snaps his fingers as if struck by inspiration. He moves to the living room, and it’s now that I notice the slight sway in his movements, the way his feet stumble a little. He returns a moment later with an empty picture frame–one I’ve been meaning to fill for weeks.
What are you doing?” I ask as he positions the frame over the dent and hangs it on a nearby nail.
“Voila!” He steps back, gesturing to his handiwork with a flourish. “Problem solved.”
I burst out laughing again. The frame is hilariously off–center, and it’s obvious there’s nothing inside it but a damaged wall, but there’s something so charming about his attempted solution.
“That looks terrible,” I tell him, still laughing
“It’s avant–garde,” he insists, grinning “Very postmodern. The empty frame represents the void in society, and the dent symbolizes the impact of authoritarian structures on individual freedom.”
“Is that so?” I can’t stop smiling. This is the Arthur I fell in love with–playful, ridiculous, quick–witted. Not the serious, buttoned–up Alpha President the world sees.
Absolutely. I expect it to be featured in your next exhibition.”
+20 Bonus
I shake my head good–naturedly. “What were you doing up at this hour, anyway?” A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s
almost three in the morning
Arthur’s laughter fades, and he gestures vaguely toward the counter where I now notice an open bottle of vodka–the very bottle I
keep in the freezer for the occasional mixed drink and a half–filled glass. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I frown. So that’s why he was staggering just now. “Are you drunk?” I ask.
“Not drunk,” he corrects, picking up his glass. “Just… lightly buzzed.”
I glance at the bottle–it’s noticeably depleted. “That doesn’t look like ‘lightly buzzed‘ to me, Arthur.”
Arthur shrugs as he takes another sip. “It’s the only way I can get any rest these days.”
“By drinking yourself to sleep?” I ask. “That’s not healthy, Arthur. We’ve talked about this.” I step closer and take the glass from
his hand, setting it down on the counter. “Why can’t you sleep?”
He meets my eyes. “You know I can’t sleep without my mate beside me.”
I knew he was going to say that, of course. He’s already told me that he hasn’t slept properly since we broke up. It’s just… hard to
hear him say it again.
“You know I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in five years,” he goes on. “Not since you left. My wolf… he doesn’t understand why
you’re not there. He paces all night, trying to find you.”
My throat tightens. “There’s medication for that,” I murmur.
“Trust me, I tried sleeping pills,” he says. “But they just made things worse. Weird dreams, sleep paralysis. Alcohol dulls my
wolf’s anxiety enough that I can get a few hours of sleep without fucking up my body completely.”
I stare at the bottle, suddenly seeing it not as a vice but as a coping mechanism. A poor one, but still. “I knew you had a problem,
but I didn’t know it was this bad.”
