Page 410 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

He's at the fridge,

grabbing another water.

“This shit you’re pullin’?” I say, closing the terrace door behind me.“I don’t do this. This is not how this works.”

Ben watches me from the fridge,

bottle sweating in his hand.

“I don’t chase men through my own house. I don’t beg for basic respect. I don’t try to talk to you. You listen to me. Are we on the same page, or do you need to go check yourself?” My voice is shockingly calm for the rage burning through me. “Maybe get your ass kicked at the gym for a few hours first?”

Ben looks at the floor first,

then at me, eyes coward-blue.

“What you want me to say? I don’t know why I did it, aight? You know I respect you. Wasn’t tryin’ to embarrass you. It just happened.”

“No.” I shake my head, voice fragile now. “It didn’t just fuckin’ happen. Rain just happens. Traffic just happens. A pigeon shittin’ on a tourist just happens.” I unbutton my jeans fast, then yank them down over my hip. “This?” The edges of the palm print are fading yellow-green, the crescent center still purplish-blue. “This was you.”

His hand flies to his forehead as he stares.

I slide my jeans back on. “You hit me so hard, it’s still here. After eight days, Ben. So don’t stand in my kitchen and tell me it just fuckin’ happened.”

“Shit, Baby…” He steps back, running a hand through his hair, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean for it to be that hard. I wasn’t thinkin’, alright?” He throws his gaze off to the side. “Fuck!” His hand drags down his face, trying to erase the mess he’s made. “Things were good, baby. I was good. Everything was fine. Then he came in. And everything got fucked up.”

His eyes swing back to me, wet with anger. “I just want it back to how it was.”

“How it was? Aight. You signed a contract. You agreed to this clause. You picked your own punishment,” I say, holding his guilty blue stare. The contract exists for this exact reason. As much as I don’t want to do this, if I don’t enforce it, the contract means nothing.

If the contract means nothing,

then I have no control.

And in a world where I have no control,

emotions can run rabid,

space so easily separates,

hearts get fucking broken,

tears start fucking slicing,

anger un-fucking-leashes,

and everything hurts so much not even a goddamn orgasm can fix it for twenty seconds anymore.

“You got five minutes to shower. When I walk into that room, you better be stripped, on your knees, and ready to learn what powerless tastes like.”

That room.

Can’t remember the last time I was in that room, but I miss the way it made me feel.

Armed.

Untouchable.

Locked away.