And something deep inside my chest hurts because of that.
I wrap my hands around the steaming mug of brown water, eyeing it warily, trying to push down the worry clawing at my throat.
“It's tea. Made from flowers and herbs and shit.” He turns and walks back to the countertop, then chops potatoes and carrots before throwing them in a pot over the fire.
I sip at the tea, which doesn’t taste like much, but he’s right. With each swallow, my insides warm.
My head spins slightly, even though I’m sitting. Not a good sign. I probably should’ve come back sooner, only I can’t go through those feelings again, can’t be fucked so thoroughly it leaves me wanting more that will never be returned.
“Um, before you keep cooking . . . I can’t do what we did last time.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I mean, I won’t do it again. And if that’s a problem, then I’ll leave now.”
When I open my eyes, Mac is still, every muscle in his body tense. He doesn’t say a word, just stares at the carrot on the counter in front of him. Then his shoulders slump. “Got carried away last time. Won’t happen again.”
I let out a deep breath. “So, it’ll just be like the first time? Quick and simple?”
“No.” He shakes his head, his back still turned to me. “No sex. At all. Ever again.”
What. The. Fuck.
Now it’s my turn to tense, and I’m not even sure why. I should be relieved. It makes things easier.
Except for the sting of rejection.
I almost want to laugh . . . and cry.
He’d have to actually care about me to reject me. Sex is only a transaction between us. Nothing more.
Mac doesn’t want me to be his the way I want to belong to him.
While I finish my tea, I push down those thoughts and focus on different questions running through my mind. I gulp the last of the warm liquid, then take a deep breath. "How am I supposed to trade you for food then? Letting you fuck me is all I have to offer."
He turns and walks over, his fingers tipping my chin up. “I said no more sex.”
My eyes start to well. “Why?”
The question slips out before I can stop it and, at this point, it has nothing to do with food and everything to do with him rejecting me.
“Because you ran away.” He clenches his jaw, a muscle ticking near his eye. “Would let yourself starve because of me.”
I duck away from his touch and stare down at the table, something thick catching in my throat. “Then do it from behind so you don’t have to look at me . . . if I’m disgusting.”
“The fuck you just say!”
I flinch, then look up as he jumps back. He’s completely rigid, fingers interlocked so tightly behind his head, the skin of his knuckles goes white as he paces.
“Mac?”
“You’re not disgusting. Not fucking at all. You’re damn sexy. Beautiful, even.” His fingers rake into his hair and he pulls it. “I’m a damn old fool. A damn monster.”
My bottom lip trembles as he continues to mutter and scold himself. He stalks out of the kitchen, then something crashes in another room, followed by the loud sound of splintering wood.
I jump up, then stumble into the hall where I find him mid-swing, holding a chair that the next second collides with the wall.
“Mac!”
I’ve never seen him like this. His distress is eating a hole in my heart, so I walk to him, placing a hand on his forearm. He whips around and his eyes are wet.
Fuck.
