The Billionaire's Obsession

***

I got up early the next day and the first thing I did was check my phone. I was really surprised that Aiden hadn’t called. Was I just fooling myself again? Did he really care that little that the fact I’d left didn’t faze him at all?

I took a cab to the penthouse and was greeted warmly by the doorman as usual. When I got upstairs, I could tell that something was wrong as soon as I walked in. For one thing, all of the curtains were drawn. It was the middle of the day but it was as dark as night inside the apartment. I switched on a light and was greeted by the grumpy and annoyed voice of my “employer.”

“Shut it off!”

“Aiden? Are you okay?”

“I said, turn it off!” I did as he asked, or demanded I suppose.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

“Why are you back?” he said, his words slurred. He sounded drunk.

“I was hoping that we could talk,” I said. I moved closer as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. When I got close enough I could see that he was still in the same clothes he’d left the house in yesterday morning. His collar was open and his tie was askew. His hair was disheveled which it rarely ever was and he had a ten o’clock shadow on his face and an almost empty bottle of bourbon sitting next to a glass on the table next to him. “You’re drunk,” I said. It just came out because I was so surprised.

“I’m an adult, I can get drunk if I damn well please.”

I sat down next to him. “Aiden, this isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

“How do you know if it’s like me or not? Maybe this is what I do. You don’t know me Holly; you only think that you do.”

“Okay,” I said, still trying to stay calm and avoid a drunken confrontation. “I should have said that I’ve never seen you like this. Did something happen?”

“Maybe it’s not about what happened, but what didn’t happen. We’re two months into our “contract” and nothing is happening. I’ve had my fertility checked, Holly. My swimmers are fine. Maybe I should have had yours checked too. That was a failure on my part.” He sat forward and with a shaky hand he poured what was left in the bourbon bottle into his glass. Picking it up and sloshing some of it over the sides on the way, he brought it to his mouth and drank until it was empty.

“So you’re ready to give up?” I asked him. “You’re ready to call it quits because I’m not pregnant fast enough for you?”

“I was ready to explore a back-up plan. You’re the one who walked out. You did what all women do, you left.” He could barely hold his eyelids open and I wondered how long he’d been sitting there like that. I felt angry at him and sorry for him at the same time. I decided we weren’t getting anywhere this way however. I wasn’t going to win an argument with a drunk. I started to stand up when I felt his hand on my wrist.

“Leaving again?” he said, angrily.

“Let go of me, Aiden. I’m trying to forgive your behavior because you’re roaring drunk, but you don’t want to take this any further.”

“Why, Holly? What are you going to do? Walk out? Haven’t you already done that?”

“I just needed some time alone, to think, Aiden. I came back to talk, but I can’t talk to you like this. Let go of me.”

He did and I stood up. I looked at him and hardly recognized the man that I saw. I felt another surge of pain in my chest for him, but at the same time I was disgusted. It was a familiar feeling, the same one I got when I looked at my own, drunken mother. I could tell that he was hurting, but I needed him to talk to me before I could help.

“Aiden, do you want to tell me what’s wrong? I understand you’re upset with me, but surely that’s not all there is to this?”

He had his head down on his chest and I couldn’t see his face. His breathing seemed heavier and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “Aiden?” I said, again.

He didn’t answer and then suddenly I heard a big snort. He had passed out. I stood watching him sleep for a few minutes knowing that I couldn’t leave my baby with this man. He was so cold sometimes that he was practically sterile and now I find out how he deals with his problems -just like my mother.

I packed the things that were mine, the ones that I’d brought with me or bought with my own money since I’d been here. I didn’t want anything he’d paid for like the pretty dresses or shoes he’d bought for me to wear out. Once my bag was packed I sat down and wrote him another note: