“Sometimes, when tragic, unexpected events happen in our lives, we make rash and poor decisions for ourselves.” He gently presses his thumb to my chin, smiling at me with sympathy.
I jerk my chin away. “Are you implying I’m not capable of making rational decisions?” The knot tightens, gripping around the base of my throat.
“Well, no.” He blinks, sighing, and takes a step back.
“Then, what part of what I said last night left you confused?”
He lazily lifts a shoulder. He smells like stale Doritos. “You didn’t ask for your key back.”
Several beats of silence pass where we simply stare at one another.
I stick my hand out, palm up. “I want it back, then.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I want my key back, Adam.” I stare at him pointedly, then raise a brow. “Is that clear enough for you?”
His face quickly transforms from soft and hopeful to angry and bitter. I knew it was a poor decision to give him the spare key to my apartment, but it had been so long since I’d been in a true relationship with someone. Not the kind where they have a phobia of putting a label on it. Adam was quick to put a label on us. In fact, he was too fast when I think about it now.
Giant red fucking flag.
He stomps across the living room to the end of the sofa, searching through his suit draped over the arm. It’s been a habit of his to change out of his suit and tie after work, lounging around in nothing but his white undershirt and cotton briefs for the rest of the night while binging on sports documentaries and junk food.
He digs into the pockets of his pants before he stalks back over to me and drops the key into my hand with an angry grunt. He reminds me of a child who has been told he can’t have his ice cream before dinner.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping the key into the side pocket of my leggings. Then I begin scrubbing at the brown stain on my coffee table.
“So, that’s it then? We’re through?”
Stopping, I groan and straighten my back once again. I’ve never been much for talking, reserving my words for those I’mable to write down versus speaking out loud, but Adam is challenging me today, forcing me to be someone I’m not. Which is part of the reason I knew we weren’t going to work out. He never has understood me.
“Yes.” I deadpan. “We are over. Now, kindly leave.” I gesture toward the front door, then bend back down to wipe the rest of the brown stain off the table. I try not to gag when it mixes with another mysterious white substance I don’t even want to attempt to identify.
“I don’t understand. I thought we were going somewhere. I imagined proposing to you one day.”
“Seriously?” I shoot up, shocked by the sudden turn in conversation.
“Yes. I was going to tell you that I loved you.”
I press my hand to my forehead, running his confession over in my brain. We’ve only been dating for six weeks. How can he possibly love me? “We are seriously so far apart, it’s quite astonishing the distance.”
“So, you don’t love me?”
Oh. My. God.
“No, Adam, I don’t love you.” I make my point clear before returning to my cleaning. Silence descends upon us, the only sound coming from my scrubbing.
“You wouldn’t want to get married?”
I shake my head. “Someday, and with the right person.”But even then…
“And that person isn’t me?”
“No.”
Tension builds in the air. I can practically feel him stewing beside me.
My rejection must irritate him further because he finally breaks the silence when he says, “Unbelievable. You areunbelievable.”
