In the car, city lights blur across the windshield. For the first ten minutes, everything feels… almost normal. He discusses his friends, new contracts, and a brand’s interest in having him promote a luxury watch line.
I nod when I should. Smile when it’s safe.
“I saw that Lauren got engaged,” I say lightly, scrolling through my phone. “She looks so happy.”
Brian laughs once, a short, cutting sound. “Happy? Please. She probably trapped the guy.”
I blink, thrown. “What? No, she’s been with him for years.”
He cuts his eyes toward me. “You’d know, huh?”
My stomach drops. “Brian, come on, it’s not that deep.”
His jaw flexes. “You always say stupid things like that and then act shocked when I call you on it.”
Why is he mad about this?
“Brian, I was just saying?—”
“Just saying,” he mocks, slamming his hand against the steering wheel so hard the horn bursts for a second. “You never shut up, Layla.”
“Please don’t?—”
“God, you’re doing it again,” he snaps. “Don’t play the victim.”
“I’m not?—”
“Yeah, you are. Every time you cry, it’s the same act.” His hand crashes down on the dashboard; the glove boxrattling. “Crybaby,” he spits. “You think that works on me?”
My eyes sting. “I’m not trying to?—”
“Save it. You know what? Maybe I should leave. Maybe I should walk away and find someone who actually loves me.”
“What?”
He throws a humorless laugh into the dark. “Yeah. I could do it. Wouldn’t be hard. You think you’re the only one who wants me? Please.”
I grip the edge of my seat, voice trembling. “Can you stop saying things like that?”
“Then stop giving me reasons to.”
“Brian—”
“Don’t,” he snarls and slams his palm into the steering wheel again.
Tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them. I turn toward the window, the cool glass biting against my skin.
“Layla.” His voice sharpens.
I don’t look, I can’t because I’m so confused as to what is fucking happening.
“Layla, look at me.”
Silence.
He reaches across the console, grabbing my chin, forcing me to face him. His grip is hard, the angle of his fingers pressing into the jawbone.
“Listen to me,” he says, pushing his fingers deeper into my jaw. “Why do I have to yell, why do I have to threaten to leave, before you’ll fucking listen?”
