"This," I cried, stopping in the center of the living room, my arms thrown out wide. "You're doingthisand it's driving me crazy. Do you understand that?"
He stood behind a creamy white sofa, his hands curled around the back. "What have I done to you? Explain it to me. I'd really like to hear that."
"Don't do that," I warned. "Don't pretend that I'm the one who can't handle this when you're the one doing it to me. My entire life is out of control when you're around. It's like the only thing in the world I can do is yell at you or rip your clothes off, and I want it to stop. I need it to stop. Every week, I promise myself it's not going to happen again, I'm not going to do this with you anymore, but then"—I dropped my arms, shook my head—"it's like I'm someone else. Because this isn't me! I don't go around screaming at people and having sex every week and—"
"It's the frequency? That's the real problem? You should've said something sooner."
I grabbed a pillow from the sofa and lobbed it at his head. "Shut up when I'm talking to you!"
He fetched the pillow from where it landed and returned it to the sofa before pacing toward me. "If you're trying to make the case that you're not a psychotic little screech owl, you're going to need to stop saying illogical shit like that."
"This isn't me," I whispered, heat gathering behind my eyes and emotion tightening my throat. I wasn't going to cry. Not happening. Not here, not now. Not in front of him. "I can't be this person anymore. I feel like I am coming apart at the seams, like I'm crumbling, and I can't do it anymore."
I stepped toward him, my hands raised with the intention of showing him to the door. Tears streamed down my face in another promise to myself broken.
"I know." He took my hands in his, pressed them to his shirt. "I know."
I mashed my face against his chest, blotting tears and madness on his t-shirt. "You don't know anything. You think I'm awful."
He brought his chin to the top of my head, let out a sigh that would've sounded like contentment coming from anyone else. "I don't think you're awful at all."
"You just said I'm a psychotic screech owl," I said with a sniffle.
"You know I say that with love."
"Shut up. The only thing you love is getting me angry enough to want to have sex with you."
For a long moment, the only sounds between us came from my sniffles and shuddering breaths. It seemed like we could've stayed there for hours, laced and locked together while the world went on without us. I hated that it was so easy. All I had to do was rub my cheek against his hard chest and suck in a lungful of his clean scent, and I forgot all the reasons I needed him to leave. I forgoteverythingI'd sworn I'd remember. Everything that made this so damn messy for me.
"I want a cease-fire," Sebastian said, his lips pressed to the crown of my head. "From now until you leave, no fighting."
"I don't think we can do that."
He shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."
I hid a smile against his chest even though I wanted to lunge for him. Wrap my hands around his neck and watch those obscenely long lashes fall shut while his scowl shifted into a smile. Hewouldsmile. He'd grin while I pressed my thumb in the exact spot to cut off his air supply, and that said something about the toxicity we created when we were together. If it also said something about trust, I didn't have the proper ears to hear it.
"Stop falling apart for a minute and see what it's like when we don't fight," he said. "Show me who you are without all the screeching. Who knows? I might like her better."
"If you want a cease-fire, you're going to have to put your fighting words away."
"Tell me you want a cease-fire and I will," he replied, giving our joined hands a squeeze. "Be as strong as you always are for me and say you need a couple of days where it's just us and none of the bullshit we left at home, and I will give you everything you want." He ran his lips over my forehead, my temple. "You know I will."
Another rush of tears burned my eyes as I nodded. "I want it."
The scary part was that I meant it and I couldn't even blame it on losing my mind as we tumbled into bed because there wasn't a single sexy thing about this moment. I was sweaty and snotty and sobbing into his shirt for reasons that had nothing to do with the miracles his penis worked.
He freed his hand, skimmed a thumb across my cheeks. "Don't cry, tiny tornado."
"Believe me, crying in front of you is the last thing I want to do."
His scowl twisted tight across his lips as he gave me a quick nod. "Right. Yeah. How about a shower?"
I dropped my forehead to his chest again, heaved out a breath. "I'm gross. I know. There's no pretty way to travel from winter weather to tropical weather."
"No, honey, you'reclothed," he said. "That's the problem I'm attempting to address."
"It's because I threw a pillow at you," I said. "And yelled about my life being out of control. That's what turns you on."
