“I’m driving,” he chided me before glancing quickly into the rearview mirror and grabbing my wrist to pull me off him. I gave him an impish grin—I had been expecting the rejection.
He had just confirmed my theory that Neil always needed to be the one who decided when to engage whenever someone showed any interest in him physically.
“So you are capable of rejecting a woman’s advances, then. Why do you find it so difficult when it comes to Jennifer or one of the others?” I asked.
“Are you trying to start a fight?” he snapped, pushing the hair back off his forehead.
“No. I just want to tell you you’re an asshole,” I shot back at him.
“You want to dredge up the exclusivity thing again, is that it?” He sighed in frustration.
“No, please continue,” I said sharply, waving a hand in the air. “I certainly wouldn’t want to bother you with such a trivial issue.”
“Good, that’s settled, then,” he answered flatly. I shook my head in resignation and leaned my head against the window, letting the unhappiness flow through me. More and more, I found myself flip-flopping between moments of wild joy and the utmost despair. My entire romantic experience consisted of one guy, and as far as I was concerned, I’d never be able to completely understand Neil. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t live without me, like when we were in bed and he claimed me with all this longing he had inside him and pleasured me until I fell apart. Other times, he was so distant and uninterested.
His behavior was erratic, possibly because he was afraid of exposing any weakness to me. Even when he’d told me about Kimberly, I still felt like he was putting up a huge, unscalable wall to hide himself from me.
Was he still afraid I was going to judge him?
I didn’t know what else I could do to make him understand that I accepted him just as he was.
I sighed and was only distracted from my thoughts when he turned on the radio, probably to break the exhausting silence between the two of us.
Alex & Sierra’s “Bumper Cars” came on, and I let the delicate notes of the song fill up my head as I focused on the lyrics, which seemed particularly apt for our situation.
“I hate romantic music,” Neil grumbled and reached out to change the station, but I stopped him.
“You hate everything; that’s not the same thing,” I retorted. “Listen to the song.”
He sighed and reluctantly put his hand back on the steering wheel.
He was humoring me for once, being surprisingly compliant, but I knew that to be a vanishingly rare occurrence. He never usually let me win so easily.
After just a few moments, in fact, he snorted.
“Fine, change it,” I snapped. “Do whatever you want!” I raised my voice before putting my temple against the window again, trying to tamp down my irritation. Neil had a special talent for frustrating me, and I didn’t know what to do about him anymore. We were two bumper cars, just like the song said.
It was pointless for either of us to chase after the other; we always ended up smashed into millions of pieces.
“I’m on edge today,” he said, drawing my attention. He was trying to explain himself. I looked at him, so beautiful and tormented, and my heart seemed to vibrate in my chest.
Damn feelings!
“You’re always on edge,” I pointed out. It made me feel useless, knowing that my presence did nothing to improve his mood. Neil always seemed to make me happier, despite often also being intolerable. I had no idea how he did it.
“More so than usual today,” he specified. He pulled his package of Winstons out of his jacket and tugged a cigarette out with his teeth.
“Could you not…” I was all ready to ask him not to smoke in the car, but instead I just let it go with a shake of my head. It wasn’t like he was going to listen to me anyway. And, as if to confirm that thought, he lit the cigarette and took a long drag before cracking the window so he could blow out the smoke. I goggled at him.
Well, at least he’d learned to show the most basic consideration for a nonsmoker like me.
Since he’d explained that he was feeling edgy, I decided to change the subject to something lighter, like…
“Am I dressed okay for where we’re going?” I asked him and looked down thoughtfully at the sweater and skirt I’d put on to leave the house. I hadn’t brought much clothing from Detroit, and for whatever reason, I opted for the only outfit that wasn’t part of my plan to dazzle Neil.
“Yeah, you look nice,” Neil answered, his face completely unenthused.
“If you tell a woman she looks ‘nice,’ you might as well just liken her to hamster poop: small, neat, and not too smelly,” I said in an offended grumble, and he remained stone-faced. In fact, he ignored me completely. “It’s an aggravating adjective,” I insisted. And still, nothing. No reaction. So I thought back onPeter and Wendy,which I’d been reading for a while now and had yet to finish.
