I am too flabbergasted to say anything.
There is this rage.
And there is she.
Who needs me.
Who loves me.
“Come back inside,” she says, grasps my hand, and pulls me with her.
She pulls me back into the studio, to the couch, pushes me on it, and lies down on me.
And while my outside is calmly brushing over her hair, my inside is not. My inside is a wild storm of messy thoughts, emotions, and the deep desire to kill everyone who dared to touch her.
“I won’t allow him to ever touch you again,” I finally say. “I won’t leave you alone anymore. Promise.”
“You can’t promise that, and you know that,” she says, her head resting on my chest.
“I can,” I say.
She lifts her head and looks at me.
“I am always alone, Amy. Always.”
“You’re not,” I say, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her hair. “Because I love you, too.”
The moment I said it, the moment I realized what I just said, heaviness appeared in my chest. How can I love her when I was just in bed with another woman?
Gods, this is such a massive fuck up.
“You do?” she asks.
“Yes, I do,” I say and add, “Shut that pestilent fucker of a voice in your mind that tells you crap. You know I do.”
She laughs as she rests her chin on her hands on my chest and looks at me.
“And what’s with the prof?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s fucked.”
“Did you fuck?” she asks, and I swallow. Telling her about it in this volatile moment seems as wrong as lying.
“Yeah, kinda,” I say hesitantly.
“Was it good?”
“Yes,” I say even more hesitantly.
“My dear Amy, you can always tell me about it, you know that, right? I am not going to implode. On the contrary.”
“I just told you I love you,” I say.
“Yeah, and? Just because you love me doesn’t mean you can’t love anyone else.”
“I don’t love her,” I say.
“For fucks sake, Amy. Get the hint, seriously,” she says, almost angrily.
