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She continues her march without even a look back. The clouds above us are low and electric. Traffic passes by us, uncaring in its speed.
“Getting away from you,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Like I said, it’s going to rain. Stop this.”
“You can’t make me do a damn thing,” Jolie replies. “All you can do is shout. All you can do is rip me open and make me bleed. All you can do is say things that make me want to disappear.”
“Get in the car, Jolie. Where the hell are you going to go?”
She still doesn’t turn around. She still marches on.
“I don’t care, as long as it’s not with you and your rage and your incessant brooding and your hurtful malice and your hate.”
I break into a jog, finally catching up to Jolie. I don’t touch her. I simply walk beside her.
I swore at her in the steakhouse... I said terrible, terrible things to her... and I’m still doing this? Still trying to care?
What a mess.
“We can talk this over in the penthouse...”
Jolie stops.
I stop.
She looks at me, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The streetlight catches the soft curve of her face. Her eyes are aflame.
“Why are you doing all this?” she asks me, stammering over the words. “Why, Fabien? Why all the good things? Why the hugs and the plans and the... You hate me. That’s what you just reaffirmed. You hate me, Fabien. So why?”
There’s a long pause.
Because I’m lost for words.
My chest tightens. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I shove them in my pockets.
“Come on, Fabien. Spit it out.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want the truth,” Jolie says. “Because your actions are speaking louder than your words.”
“I can’t...”
“Tell me, Fabien. Why?”
Another pause.
“Because I hate seeing you lose,” I whisper. “When you lose, it feels like I lose. I think we both deserve a win.”
Jolie shakes her head.
“That’s what I hate most of all about you. The way you care.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You just said you wish you never met me,” she says.
“Jolie...”
