Ian’s question hits a little too close to home, and a wave of shame washes over me, but I refuse to let him see it. “Just yours,” I lie. Getting a small rush out of being a bitch for the hell of it.
His grip on my waist tightens, and I can feel the tremble in his hand as he battles with himself.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince both of us. He drops his gaze to the worn wood of the countertop, and I watch his face flash through a million emotions, waiting for him to look back up at me, but he doesn’t. “I won’t apologize for choosing to be happy.”
The sincerity in his voice isn’t lost on me, but I can’t help the overwhelming desire to expose my guts and show him what real pain looks like. I don’twantto feel this way, but here I am, yet again, letting my past dictate my present.
“You don’t think I’d choose happiness overthis?” I ask as if the answer isn’t completely fucking obvious. Whochoosestobe this miserable all the time? “I’m not offended by happiness, Ian. I’m envious as fuck of all the people who seem to feel it so easily!” I snap, letting my eyes fall to his lips before dropping to my feet, trying to find something to say that doesn’t sound like I have a mouthful of broken glass. “My happiness is buried so deep inside me that I don’t have the energy to dig for it most days. Hell, I barely have the energy to exist, but I fucking try! I let my guard down for Mitch. It took everything I had, and I still wound up choosing someone who was never going to choose me.”
Saying it out loud makes me feel so incredibly weak, and a gnarly weight sinks into my gut. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be so fucking stupid…again.
I can feel Ian’s eyes on me now, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing the defeat he’s caused. Whether it was intentional or not, it lives within me now.
The weight of my past threatens to crush me, but Ian seems to pick up on the fragility of my frame and the depths of my wounds.
“If it helps, I had no idea you were in love with him,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “If I had known, I never would have made a move on him. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, Roxy, but…you can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming. Maybe not necessarily Mitch andme, but Mitch and someone. He’s a fuck buddy. There was bound to be someone else, eventually.”
A storm of anger and shame swirls within me as I slowly bring my eyes back to him, and a bead of sweat drips down my spine as I gather the last remnants of strength to unleash the truth.
“Mitch can fuck whoever he wants,” I bark, trying to pull away from his grip, “Just not you.”
The hand on my hip falls to his side in defeat, but the spark in his eyes returns with a vengeance.
“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” he snaps, catching me off guard.
“You don’t have to do anything, Ian. That’s the fucking problem!” I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself as I struggle to find the right words to portray my feelings without self-combusting. “You know what, I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“No? Well, you should have it with someone. Preferably a therapist,” he spits back.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, turning to leave, but he grabs my waist, pulling me back.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he begins, his tone deadly serious, his eyes scanning the contours of my face. I shrug, trying to make it look like I don't care, but the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks at any moment sell me out.
“You didn’t mean to tell him you love him, and you definitely didn’t expect him to say it back. But I love him too, and he loves me, which understandably complicates things for you. But instead of being a big girl and dealing with your emotions like a fucking adult, what do you do when things get tough, Rox? Huh? You vanish.”
All traces of emotion are gone from his expression. A serious undertone overcomes his features, and it’s so jarring for him to be standing so close to me that I can see it blossom across his face. My body betrays me like a desperate whore for his attention despite everything my brain is yelling over the noise.
He’s right, but I don’t want him to know that.
I open my mouth to reply, but he’s not finished.
“Who fucked you up? Who turned you so against yourself that you don’t think you're worthy of fighting for what you want?” His voice is low and intense.
I want to tell him to fuck off, tell him that it’s none of his business, but I just stare at him, my eyes welling up with morepathetic tears. I hate that he’s right. I hate that he can see through me so easily, that he can see past the mask to the pain and fear hiding just out of sight.
I hate that he’s right about Mitch, too. Iamscared. I’m scared of what it means to love someone who loves me back. Afraid that I’m not worthy of his love or that he doesn’t love me as much I love him…or as much as he loves Ian.
I’ve never been in such a state of vulnerability that my soul feels ripped to shreds, bare and raw. Bits of me that I’ve had locked up for so long are now exposed to the elements. Parts of the walls I’ve spent years carefully constructing are paper thin to Ian’s gaze.
“What are you doing?” I spit out bitterly, my insides twisting in knots. “Don’t pretend you actually care about me when all you really care about is yourself. You’re just another pretty boy with a big ego, and you’re not fooling me. That forced optimism mask you wear every day isn’t for anyone else's benefit but your own. The fact that you can look down on me like you areanydifferent is a fucking joke.”
Ian’s eyes darken, the light that usually resides in them snuffed out like a candle and a sick sense of pride warms my cold-blooded heart. To take someone so pure and turn them inside out, exposing all the parts they hide from the world is so exhilarating. I plan to bask in this feeling for as long as possible, but his eyes take on an edge I’ve never seen before as he steps closer, forcing me backward and pressing my lower back into the kitchen counter.
“I am nothing like you,” he says, practically spitting words through gritted teeth. His eyes bore into me like daggers as I struggle to keep my eyes on his. “You walk around trying to mask your pain with a tough exterior, but you’re nothing but a scared little girl trapped in the body of a spiteful bitch.”
The heat of his harsh words brushes against my face, and every logical thought in my mind disappears. I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat remains.
“You think you know me so well,” I say. I want to sound brave and defiant, but my heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to escape my chest. The last thing I want is for him to see how much his words affect me.
