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“There’s nothing left to say.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. You said we needed some time apart to think, and I’ve given you a couple of weeks.”
I bite my lip. “I said that because you wouldn’t accept that we were over. I don’t want to get back with you, Cole. We’re done.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. Come on. I agree that things got heated, and we needed a bit of time to ourselves. And I thought about stuff, and I know I can get a bit heavy sometimes. I’m sorry about that, and I’ll be different, I promise.”
“Don’t,” I say desperately, because I’m not strong, and I don’t want him to talk me into going out with him again. “Please, Cole.”
“I miss you.” He looks at my mouth. “Have you missed me?”
I swallow. “No.”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t lie to me.”
Irritation flares inside me. “I’m not lying. I haven’t missed the way you always try to tell me what I’m thinking. Or the way you put me down all the time.”
“I didn’t put you down.”
“You did! You’re so patronizing. Always telling me what to do.”
“That’s because you’re so fucking useless,” he says with some amusement.
My face heats, because he’s right. I’m clumsy, I constantly lose things—my phone, my watch, my purse, my sunglasses. I get panicky when I need to phone people or organize things. I’m always getting lost. I forget appointments and phone numbers and names. I’m hopeless in so many areas of my life. But it stings to have it pointed out.
“I know,” I snap, “but somehow I’m still managing to cope without you.”
“Aw, you don’t mean that. You know we were good together.”
I glare at him. “No, we really weren’t.”
“Sweetie, come on…” He moves closer to me and slides an arm around my waist. I brace my hands on his chest, resisting, but not pushing, not yet.
“Stop it,” I say as firmly as I can.
“Don’t say you haven’t missed me,” he murmurs.
I stiffen as I smell alcohol on his breath. “Jesus. It’s three o’clock. Are you drunk?”
“I’ve had one drink.”
“One quadruple.”
He just laughs.
Suddenly, I’m tired of this. Of the arguments, the mind games, of the way he made me feel unworthy, of the constant disappointment. I’m lonely, but that doesn’t mean we should get back together. I can do better than him.
I push him. “I want you to leave.”
“Aw, Belle. I’ve missed you. Your soft body. Your beautiful breasts. Come on. Let’s go to bed, and let me remind you how good it was.”
“It wasn’t good! It was shit. You treated me like a sex doll—something you could use when you needed relief.” I’m beginning to get upset now. Jesus, why did I agree to let him in? Jo was right. I should have listened to her.
He pulls me toward him again and murmurs, “Come on, Belle. I’ve taken my punishment.”
