“Why couldn't you have told me that? Why was it such a secret?”
“You really want me coming in and telling you every time I go out on a date with someone?”
“How are you sleeping with me but then going on dates with people?”
I swear to God this man's lack of self-awareness is staggering.
“You really confuse me Lincoln. Because you ask these questions, and you have absolutelyzeroself-awareness. We… arenotmarried. The same way that you can cheat on me,whilewe're married, is the same wayIcan go out on a fucking date while we'renot. It ain't that hard. I don't police who you decide to sleep with. So, you shouldn't feel as though you have the right to police whoIsleep with. And, even though I didn't have sex with anyone, I'm not going to promise you that I won't sometime soon.”
His face darkens.
Pulling my lips between my teeth, my shoulders shrug. “All of this doesn't give you the right to lock me out of a house that I live in, something we both agreed on, or for you to put your hands on me.”
“You put your hands on me first,” he mumbles.
“I understand that—”
“—And I didn't hit you any harder than you hit me.”
“Have you ever hit Sarah?” I ask him, more out of curiosity.
He stares down at his hands and his lap before he rests his left elbow on his driver-side door panel, his index finger tracing his bottom lip as he stares out the windshield.
“No.”
“So why would you do that to me?” I challenge him.
“Did you not like it?”
“Did you do it specifically because youthoughtI would like it?”
The initial response from him is silence, before he concedes with a simple,
“No.”
I know I'm supposed to be outraged and upset, tossing epithets his way, kicking him in the nuts, punishing him for daring to treat me that way, but with him… everything is so messy and toxic.
I don't feel confused. But I do feel trapped. Trapped in this tumble cycle of endless feedback loop of loving someone and needing to stay away from them but not wanting to even though I have full knowledge they're bad for me.
“You hurt me Lincoln. And what hurt me worse is the notion that you somehow are more self-righteous than I am. It's that delusion that causes you to constantly forget why we're even in the situation in the first place.”
“How can I forget? You'realwaysreminding me,” he counters.
“Because you'realwaysforgetting!” I shoot back.
The claustrophobia lifts only slightly and now I'm angry. I'm frustrated and I'm angry and he gets on my last nerve.
Tensing my jaw, I kneel on my seat and reach over, using the knuckle on my index finger to press hard against his temple before pushing. His head lightly sways to the left.
His eyes focus on the windshield as he grinds his teeth, attempting to curb his anger.
Without turning his head to face me, his eyes lock on mine, as if challenging me.
“What, you want to hit me again?” I challenge him once more as I push the right side of his face again. “Go ahead. Why don't you hit me again? Show me how strong you are,” my voice comes out in a hush of frustration and anger.
Breathing out through his nose, he continues staring through the windshield and away from me.
“Why don't you look at me, bitch?”
