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So many people turn to look at me as I storm up to his room, but I don’t give a single one of them any attention. They don’t know a damn thing other than the whispers going around the set.
Everyone saw the way Nathan looked at me, as if he was silently accusing me for his shitty acting. And they all heard what Julie said and the implications.
It is not my fault that Nathan isn’t focused.
To top it off, Lydia let me know the “he said, she said” that’s going around now: Nathan told Julie you’re a former flame and it’s a problem you’re here at all.
I haven’t had a soul even start a conversation with me before last night. Yet nearly a dozen people have come up to prod me about my relationship with Nathan. I get this anxious feeling in my gut every time … like he’s talking shit about me or trying to get me fired.
And I’m not going to stand for this.
My knuckles are white by the time I raise my hand to his door, but before I can get any satisfaction out by pounding my fist against it, the door swings open.
At first, Nathan’s surprised, simply because someone happened to be right there when he opened the door. I’m a bit taken aback as well. But then recognition dawns on him and his eyes narrow. I don’t give him a chance to turn me away. I walk right in, brushing against his hard, hot body, ignoring how the heat races through me from just that little touch. My hair sways against my shoulders as I turn around to face him. I’m rocking back and forth from foot to foot slightly as the urge to fight wanes little by little.
I hold on to the fire, clenching my teeth, and focusing on exactly how I was going to start.
His motions are slow, deliberately so. He takes his time closing the door, even taking a moment to glance out and see who’s watching. My self-consciousness gets the best of me for only a second. Maybe a split second. Until the door closes, leaving us alone and I remember exactly what happened.
“What’s going on?” I ask him evenly, although I’m sure he can tell I’m pissed. “You can ignore me all you want, but fucking up your takes and blaming it on me is not okay.” My throat feels hoarse as I finally get the words out.
His brow rises slightly and he cracks his neck to the left, seemingly unaffected. Bastard.
“I didn’t come to the set to disturb you or,” I raise my hands in the air dramatically, “or throw you off your game.”
He’s quiet. He’s always done this to me. He leaves me to be the one to carry the conversation. He likes to see me squirm, but I’m not willing to play his game right now.
“I didn’t even know you’d seen me!” I screech and the rawness of my voice hurts my throat as the words escape.
Nathan stands there, so much taller than me, muscular and brooding in a way that should intimidate me. Maybe even threaten me, but all it does is make me angry.
He wanted to hurt me.
My teeth grind against one another as I take two steps forward and shove my palms against him. His muscles are firm and unmoving; the shove doesn’t make his hard body move in the least. But it provokes him. It accomplishes exactly what I knew it would.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, looking down at me as his body sways with the need to move. His feet are solidly planted though. He’s only giving me the tiniest bit. And it hurts.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say and my throat closes. My fight is practically gone.
I loved him. He’s the first man I loved. My first in every way.
“I find it hard to believe,” he says.
“Fuck you,” I spit at him and take half a step back. “If I wanted to see you …” I start to say, but he interrupts me.
“You’d have come days ago. I know.” His eyes heat and his expression morphs from disinterest to pissed off. “Yet you didn’t, and now you’re here. Why is that?”
He’s angry I didn’t come see him? He’s got to be kidding me.
“You knew I was here. Didn’t you?”
His eyes flash, and he tries to play it off but I saw.
“This isn’t on me. This is on you,” I say and push my pointer finger into his chest. “You’re the one who ended it and said to stay away.” You’re the one who left me when I needed you. The memory comes back and I practically choke on the words. “This is on you,” I repeat and try to make the words come out strong, but I’ve never sounded so weak in my life. I’m back to being the frightened girl I was that night. Left alone and abandoned and with no one to help me.
