“Huh? Yeah. Thought you went to Cookeville,” he says, unenthused. “What are youwearing?” He squints at the light coming in the dark room.
“This?” I look down at my clothes, wondering what I’ve done wrong now. “A T-shirt and shorts? I’m going to my mom’s, but I needed to see you first.”
My eyes are still adjusting from the bright outdoor sun to the underground darkness of the basement, but my clothes seem fine to me.
“You dress like a twelve-year-old boy.”
I don’t bother to respond. He views dresses as an open invitation and easy access, so I stopped wearing them.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Jace saying, “Don’t take criticism if you wouldn’t take advice.”
I don’t have room for any more inner voices up here, but it must be effective because Nathan’s slight has no effect on me.
The douche waffle himself gave me this Peavey Electronics T-shirt when it shrunk in the wash. I cut off the sleeves and paired it with very classy cutoff denim shorts and hiking sandals. It’s ninety-two degrees with matching humidity. There’s no audience to see me drive for three hours.
It’s tempting to tell him the shirt was Jace’s. That would set him offreal good. I hate filtering everything I say. It makes me feel like a kid again and not in a good way.
“Can I turn a light on?” I ask timidly.
Nathan’s propped on pillows, watching TV in bed.
“Sure, it’s not like I can sleep with the stampede going on upstairs. The dogs started running around at 7a.m. Seriously, there’s no respect for people who have to work.”
Not that it matters, but he doesn’t reach for me, hug me, or otherwise act like he cares that I’m here. Months ago when I was sick, he stocked water, cough drops, and tissues on the side table, then tucked me into his bed while he sat on top of the covers. He rubbed my back while he was on the phone with his sister, saying I wasthe one.
Days later when I needed a ride to urgent care for a breathing treatment, Nathan wouldn’t answer the phone. He claimed he was asleep.
I let it go because he worked a lot, but he never apologized. Never checked in.
Annie would’ve missed class, so Jude insisted on taking me even though he missed work. He said what he always says. “My job’s flexible. I got you.”
I used to come over after class, before Nathan left for work in the late afternoon. We talked about our future, how quickly I could finish school, or promotions he was working toward. He always said he loved seeing me in his space, but soon it became more about his bed.
I loved spending time together, but right away he pushed for more than I was ready to give.
My boundaries weren’t a problem when I told him up front, but I guess he thought he could wear me down once I was lying on his bed. Maybe it’s my own fault, but I was always fully dressed, and there’s nowhere else to sit.
After his ring-less proposal, kissing would lead directly to ten rounds with an octopus. He began to say things like, “We’re going to be married anyway. Quit making such a big deal out of this.” Or “Stop being so tense. I promise you’ll feel better if you just let it happen.”
It makes me wonder if proposing was a spur of the moment love bomb to make me less likely to shut down his advances.
Or leave when he broke the baby news …oh my.
I never thought of myself as being all that uptight, but every word out of his mouth only made me feel less and lesssafe.
That thought’s been at the forefront of my mind for the last six weeks.
I don’t feel safe with him.
But, as Nathan says, “Of course I want to make love to you. Would you marry someone who doesn’t want you?”
That’s logical, I suppose, but he puts so much emphasis onthatwith so little interest in anything else. It makes me uneasy.
So uneasy that I’ve flinched at his touch for a while. I thought I had an aversion to touch, but that’s not it.
I have a problem when it becomes a weapon.
His affection was only for good behavior, and he took it away when I couldn’t meet his ever-changing demands.
