“How am I supposed to trust you when you never let me really know you?” My calm tone contrasted sharply with his violent movements. Rarely had we seemed more like opposites, as we each coped with this so differently.
Neil visibly tried to calm down at that point, breathing deeply. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, his hair was in more disarray than usual, and his lips looked chapped. My head began to spin, and I tightened my grip on the counter to keep from stumbling as I briefly shut my eyes.
“I let you have a look inside me. And there’s nothing beautiful there, nothing good for a person like you.”
I opened my eyes again at the ragged sound of his voice, quieter and hoarser, probably because he’d done so much yelling.
“And I don’t know what to make of you,” I murmured, letting out a sob of frustration. I covered my face with my hands, barely managing to stay on my feet.
My head felt like it was bursting; my whole body was trembling. I…
I couldn’t understand Neil, and I couldn’t deal with him either.
I managed to calm myself slightly, though I was still wracked with occasional sobs as I looked at him again. His eyes scrutinized my entire body, and just for a moment, I caught a glimpse of want, which he immediately suppressed, running a hand over his face. Neil was trying to get himself together, and it looked like he was forcing himself to keep his distance from me. I just kept quiet. I was afraid that anything I might say would only reignite his rage.
Suddenly, Neil began to stalk back and forth in front of me, visibly fighting against his demons. Then he turned and walked quickly over to the kitchen island and took a seat on one of the stools, cradling his head in his hands.
Instinct told me to go to him and try to comfort him. Reason, however, said I should stay right where I was.
“Why?” he asked himself, staring unseeingly at the kitchen island. “Why? For fuck’s sake!” He tore a hand through his hair again, his movements fidgety.
Was I crazy for loving him even like that? Out of his mind, enraged, and bewildered?
Yes, he was all those things.
Something was wrong with me. Even I couldn’t figure out how Neil had burrowed so deeply into my head.
After a long silence, I finally ventured in a soft tone, “Why what?” But he just stayed slumped forward, his hands digging into his hair as he breathed laboriously.
“Shut the fuck up!” he told me, and I flinched.
I had gotten used to his anger, his profanity, and his rough manner, less so to this obvious incoherence that made his behavior impossible to decipher.
Tension rose up between us, and I didn’t allow myself to utter a single word. Still in shock, I began collecting the shards of glass from the smashed vase and putting them in the trash. My hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my stomach, but I couldn’t give in to apprehension and dread if I wanted to keep a clear head.
Meanwhile, Neil had put the ice pack over his swollen knuckles and stared off into space. He looked worn-down and vacant.
I cared more for him than any other man in the world, but that didn’t mean I could make excuses for him. I couldn’t believe he’d come into my home and treated me so disrespectfully.
“Tell me what you want from me,” I said, if only to break the silence that enveloped us. He didn’t answer, only raising his head to give me a furious glare. I could see the mess of emotions he was experiencing in his golden eyes. I took a step back, cowed by his hard expression, and Neil noticed.
The small amount of confidence I’d had was snuffed out then, like a candle before a gust of wind.
He got to his feet, dominating the small kitchen with his bruiser physique. He tossed the ice pack onto the kitchen island and then stepped around it.
It seemed that every step he took shook the earth until even the devil below felt the trembling.
I backed up until my back was against the wall. He halted.
He studied me for a long moment, though I had no idea what, if anything, he was trying to figure out. He was too well concealed behind his psychological walls of silence and remove.
“Take your shoes off,” he ordered while he shed his own leather jacket at a disarmingly leisurely pace. He tossed it aside without ever breaking his stare, and my eyes tracked the motion as I panicked internally.
Now in just his dark jeans and sweatshirt, he leveled his stormy, impenetrable gaze at me, urging me to do as he said. But I hesitated.
“Take off the fucking shoes. Now,” he repeated impatiently, and I sucked in a breath at the intensity in his voice.
I tightened my lips in disdain at his high-handed attitude, but I did as he said. I pulled off one boot and then the other, letting them fall to the floor with a brief thud. I wore only my thin white sweater, skirt, and thigh-highs. He looked me up and down, lingering on my bottom half, and from the flare of lust that illuminated his eyes, I could tell he was thinking about how easy it would be to slip a hand up that skirt.
