But if I wait until morning, she’ll look at me in daylight with those sharp eyes and too much attitude and it’ll turn into a fight before I get the words out.
In the dark she goes softer.
Not weak. Just… softer. Like she forgets to bare her teeth.
“I have to go to Russia,” I say finally.
The words leave a bad taste in my mouth.
She lifts off me immediately.
Instinct moves faster than thought. My arm bands around her waist and drags her back down before she gets more than a few inches away.
She lands against me with an annoyed little huff.
“You didn’t have to grab me like that.”
“Yes, I did.”
My voice comes out rough. Too fast. Too certain.
She shifts against me, irritation in every movement, but settles her cheek back against my chest anyway like she knows fighting me half-asleep isn’t worth it.
“How long?” she asks.
I look up at the ceiling, jaw tight.
“If I can help it,” I say, “two days.”
Her fingers slide into my hair. My whole body reacts before my mind catches up. My eyes close.
Fuck.
She scratches lightly at my scalp, just enough to drag something deep and mean right out of me. My breathing slows against my will. My chest loosens. Every hard edge in me starts going stupid and heavy.
I hate it.
I hate that she can do this to me with her fingers and no effort. I catch her wrist and pull her hand down.
“Stop.”
She punches me in the ribs. Hard enough to make me grunt. I open my eyes and look down at the dark shape of her. “You’re being violent.”
“You’re being mean.”
“I’m always mean.”
She shifts again, and I can hear the hurt in her voice when she says, “Not in the dark.”
My chest pulls tight.
I don’t answer.
Because she’s wrong.
I am mean in the dark.
Just not to her.
