I try not to let it, but that fact only succeeds in souring my mood further.
“So, you wanna tell me why you left Amira home alone at ten-thirty at night to spend the next few hours in this fucking dive bar?” Ash asks, ordering Bud from the male bartender restocking in front of us.
When he puts it like that, I feel like a fucking dick, but I just… needed a moment to myself.
“You haven’t been there since you’ve been staying at that motel in town, but we haven’t talked in fucking days, bro. We left the park after our ruined picnic, and it’s been fucking rough between us since. We haven’t spoken, touched… Shit, we haven’t even fucking eaten together!” I snap, dropping my face into my palms, suddenly feeling exhausted from all the emotions weighing me down.
“Shit. What the hell happened anyway? You never told me.”
I recap that entire night, not sparing any detail, and when I finish, Ash is bobbing his head slowly, letting out a sharp, low-pitched whistle.
“That’s fucked. But you two are fucking stubborn. So I’m not even surprised that the both of you went at it.”
That’s not even the fucking point. I’m not upset that we fought, screamed at each other during a moment we were supposed to be enjoying each other. But I am pissed that we’ve let it go on this long.
There is no fucking reason why we shouldn’t be able to talk about our shit with each other.
And there are no grounds to throw around names that should be long gone.
“I just. I needed a fucking break from the never-ending silence. Even Shadow is affected by our behavior, sleeping on her mat by the fireplace instead of in the room with us.”
The tension is almost unbearable. I had to get out before I snapped.
“So, what are you gonna do? What’s the grand plan?”
I honestly have no fucking idea, but admitting that to Ash doesn’t seem like an option.
Slamming down a hundred-dollar bill, I rise from the bar top and head toward the exit, needing the fresh breeze blowing over my face, so the weight suddenly dropped on my shoulders doesn’t seem so overbearing.
Ash’s heavy footfalls sound behind me, echoing loudly in my ears and reverberating over the raucous crowd in the bar. I pick up the pace, wanting desperately to be alone.
I’m halfway across the parking lot by the time I hear Ash exit the building, the harsh wind feeling like a million tiny needles stabbing me in the face.
“Rome! What the fuck, man!” he shouts as I storm past my black Camaro, stopping in the middle of the parking lot, arms stretched out to his sides as I begin to exit the parking lot.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Ash asks, hands tunneled around his mouth to carry throughout the full lot.
“I just need to clear my head!” I wave him off before I turn the corner, walking out of his sight completely.
I lean my back against an ivy-covered gate, holding my breath in my chest because suddenly exhaling is fucking painful. Standing in front of Rusty’s Tavern at midnight, alone and fucking cold, I’m beginning to rethink my decision to walk home. But I’m too fucking angry to go home now, and truth be told, I don’t even think I’m entitled to this anger, but I feel it nonetheless.
Going home like this would only upset Amira, and she doesn’t need my shit on top of hers. So, pushing myself off the gate, I begin my walk home, hoping the freezing temperature extinguishes my foul mood.
†††
My feet are fucking killing me.
I could have easily called a cab to come and take me home, but the walk is doing me good. I can already feel the stress and frustration beginning to lift off my shoulders. The heaviness that has been dragging me down for the past four days is slowly disappearing with each breath I take.
I did a lot of reflecting on this walk.
Thoughts about my future and my past, but mainly, I thought about my angel and how regardless of everything, my life is so much better with her in it.
The other night, at the park, when her fingers were tangled in my hair, and my face was buried between her thighs, I felt what our future would be like. I saw the image of us thirty years later, happily in love and freely getting lost in each other’s bodies.
Rapture bolts through me, thinking of what we could be, what we were for a split second before her trauma took over, and I trip on my feet.
We could have that.
