“You’re being weird,” I told him. Or I was. One of those things was true.
He took a sip of his drink and looked at me with an expression I didn’t recognize.
I thought I knew all of his expressions.
“How so?” he asked.
“Like you’re still upset with me. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
“For what, exactly?”
Was this a trick question? “E.G. it’s late. I don’t want to play games.”
He laughed at that. “Oh, Flowers, trust me. This is no game.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you on a Saturday night,” I clarified. “I’m sorry I put you in a situation you didn’t want to be in.”
He shook his head. “Nah, that’s not it. That’s not why I feel this way.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him exactly how he felt, but that seemed a little too dangerous. My heart was thudding inside my chest, my skin felt tight. I didn’t know how to break through this uncomfortableness.
“I’m sorry for letting Claire drink too much,” I tried again, thinking he might simply want a more explicit accounting for what I’d done wrong.
“Don’t be thick, Flowers. You know damn well you can’t take responsibility for other people’s actions. Only your own.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah,” I said, now fully irritated.
I stood up and walked over to where he was still spread out on my couch. Driven by some crazy impulse, I took the drink out of his hand and took a large gulp. Suddenly my whole mouth was on fire. I swallowed and then breathed out what I was sure were flames.
“There,” I said. “How about that action?”
He stood then, too. Close to me, but I wasn’t backing down.
That was the thing about E.G. You couldn’t show fear or weakness, otherwise he would roll right over you. You had to stand your ground with him. Push back when he pushed you.
He took the glass out of my hand and set it down on a table next to the couch.
Then, carefully, he placed his hands around my upper arms. He didn’t squeeze so much as he let me know I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to. I didn’t move.
“You don’t get it, Anna,” he said, softly. So softly I had to move closer to him to hear. “I’m not angry at you for any of those things. I’m angry at you for making mefeel. Making me feel fear and worry. Making me feel weak and helpless. Making me feel…”
“What?” I asked him, dared him really. “What else?”
Then his hands did squeeze around my arms. He closed his eyes and I knew he was fighting some internal demon with all the willpower he had. Witnessing his struggle was amazing. Like watching a thunderstorm approach. Dark. Rumbling. Tumultuous.
Suddenly his hands were gone and he was stepping away.
No,I thought.No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to win that internal battle. He was supposed to lose!
“I have to go,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, dully. “That makes sense.”
He walked to the door while I stood there, breathing heavily, not really having any idea what just happened.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “I don’t know what the hell just happened.”
