He pulls out of me abruptly and swings his legs off the edge of the bed so that his feet touch the carpeted floor. He leans forward, putting his elbows to his knees and his face in his hands. Tension ripples off of him.
I sit up and gently place my hand on his back.
“Don’t.”
“I said I love you,” I repeat. “And I’m not sorry. I didn’t plan on telling you, and I wasn’t going to, but it just slipped out.”
“You weren’t going to tell me?” he snaps as he jumps to his feet.
“Well, no.”
“What else weren’t you going to tell me?” he snarls. “Would you tell me if you suddenly started wanting a baby? Would you tell me then, or would you just wait to inform me when the blessed event arrived?”The way he saysblessed eventmakes me shudder, but it also makes my heart bleed, because the way he says it sounds like he would never want me to have his babies, that he would never want to share that with me. And I didn’t realize until right now how very much I wanted that.
“Of course not,” I answer. “And that’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“I’m not feeling very nice at the moment,” he replies in an ugly way, and I do the absolute worst thing possible and open my mouth to retaliate.
“For all I know, I could be pregnant right now.”
“Excuse me.”
“You have fucked me left and right for months, King.Months.And not once did you use a condom.”
“You’re on birth control,” he snaps. “I didn’t think I had to.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, panicking.
“I snooped through your shit in the bathroom,” he admits. “Gotta say, babe, you don’t exactly hide shit with the way you leave it out on the bathroom counter.”
“You snooped through my stuff?” I ask, and my voice sounds small and broken even to my own ears, but King doesn’t stop. He continues to break apart every last bit of what we had.
“I haven’t fucked a woman since my wife died,” he bites out. “I couldn’t stay away from your pussy. It called to me like a fucking addiction. But even as weak as your cunt makes me, I needed to know who I was fucking. And baby, I do. You take that shit every day. There is no possibility of you getting pregnant, and now there never will be.”
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you, and you’re never going to love me.”
“Are you happy now,fresa? You couldn’t just leave things well enough alone could you? You had to push and push and push until you had what you wanted,” he snarls at me, and I clutch the covers to my breasts, not wanting him to see me anymore than he already does. “Just like always. But what if I can’t love you? What if I don’t want to love you? Did you think of that? Did you get everything you wanted? What? No answer? I’m going out for a drive. We’ll figure out this mess you’ve made when I get back.”
And then he leaves me sitting in the bed that he just made love to me in, and I’ve never been more alone.
Chapter 16
What more could happen?
Idon’t know how long I sat there before the tears came. But come, they did. It was like a torrential downpour; once it started, I couldn’t stop it. I just crumpled. I covered my face with my hands as the first sob bubbled up from my chest. And then another. And another. I cried until there was nothing left, no tears and definitely no hope.
All that was left was my shattered heart.
I feel naked and emotionally raw, and it doesn’t help that I’m actually naked. I jump up and race to the bathroom. I snatch my clothes up from the bathroom floor and quickly pull them on. I need to be covered. I can’t be naked when he gets back.
Oh God, he’s coming back.
He said we were going to figure out the mess I made when he gets back. I thought there would have been more finality in his parting words. But no. Just that we’d figure out the mess I made. Because falling in love with him was apparently a mess. But then again, he’s the one who feels that way. He clearly didn’t fall for me. How did he so eloquently put it? That I made him addicted to my pussy?
I guess if he wanted me to un-fall in love with him, that might do it. I feel angry and broken and sad.
There is one thing I am certain about; I’m not going to be here when he gets back. I race back into the bathroom and wash my face. It’s red, swollen, and puffy from crying. Who cares though? If no one finds me attractive ever again, I will probably consider it a blessing. I do not want to feel like this ever again.
I slide my feet into my Chucks and grab my leather hobo bag. And then I realize it might be a bit chilly out still, so I set my bag down and pull on an oversized sweatshirt. In my rush to get out of this room, I don’t think about where I’m going. What am I going to do? I guess I could go shopping or get a massage, or maybe I can just get on a fucking plane and go home. I don’t belong here anyway. I never did. Maybe I should plot out what I want to do with the rest of my life, because racing is going to break my heart all over again if I lose and my dad hands the company over to Bobby. I know that sounds petty and childish, but I don’t care. I feel like I’m losing everything.
