Mated To The King’s Gamma novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Abbie POV

The quilt that gnawed at me as he left brought tears to my eyes. He didn’t deserve a broken mate. How he even wanted me after everything was beyond me, and still, I couldn’t stand being touched. Even the briefest of hugs had memories crashing into me. I was useless to him.

When I am sure he is out, I move off the bed and start cleaning up. He never said anything, but I knew the mess we made upset him. Maybe if I clean the place, he will forgive me? Yet some part of me knew it was because I was inadequate, not enough for him. I wasn’t even enough for myself. I wasn’t anything, nothing. Never enough for anyone. My mere existence was to be used and tossed away. The only thing I was good for because taking it was the only way he would get anything from me.

How long before he got sick of waiting? How long before he turned out like the rest of the men that had stumbled into my life? That thought scared me, and left me trembling as I scrubbed the tiles in the bathroom.

I scoured the bathroom until there were nearly no bristles left on my scrubbing brush. The sun was beginning to rise, and I looked to the window when my shadow cast along the wall. My brows furrow in confusion. How long had I been here?

It never ceased to amaze me how I could lose track of time. As if on autopilot, shaking my head, the bathroom was so clean It almost glistened, and the bleach I had spent most of the night and early morning inhaling burned my throat and nose. It was all I could smell. — Packing up my cleaning supplies, I wandered back out to find the bedroom open again.

Gannon had opened it when he left, and I shut it while I cleaned only for it to open again, yet I thought I closed it? Walking over to it, I shut it only for it to push inward.

“Door stays open, Abbie. I can’t hear you with it closed,” comes Liam’s voice. I open the door. Liam nods, then moves back to his room, leaving the door open to his room.

“Did Gannon ask you to babysit me?” I ask him.

“No, I offered,” he says, going back to the newspaper he is reading. I shake my head, moving back into the room and over to clean washing. I start folding it and hanging everything in the closet. When I am done, I move to Gannon’s dresser and open the top drawer, rearranging it to squeeze his clothes in the drawer.

My fingers brush at something that felt like leather. Lifting up the pile of shirts above it, I find what appeared to be a diary. I grab it out, wondering why it was in there and not on his bookshelf. I sat it on the dresser’s edge and rearranged the drawer when I saw the corner of what appeared to be a picture sticking.

After fixing the drawer, I felt something under the drawer’s lining. I move the velvet liner and find a manilla folder. I pull it out, set it with the diary, and close the drawer.

Grabbing the diary, I pull on the corner of the picture hanging out and find it is a picture of my mother. I blink at the picture, wondering where he got it from before opening the diary to see a photo of me. I stare at the picture, wondering when it was taken, and I glance at the book, wishing I could read it.

Grabbing the folder, the door pushes open, and Gannon’s scent wafts to me, and I move toward the bed and open it, about to ask him where he found a picture of my mother, only to gasp at what I see inside the folder.

“Abbie, no!” Gannon blurts, rushing toward me, but it is too late. I have already seen what it contained. I wished I could unsee what I saw, but like everything else, it was now permanently burned into my brain.