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I look past her and see a closet; the door open. I walk into it and grab an armful of clothes off the rack and throw them in the suitcase.
“What the hell are you doing?” Melanie asks as I walk back into the closet.
“Packing her shit,” I answer, carrying out more clothes.
“What? Why?” she asks, stepping in front of me and blocking me from taking the clothes to the suitcase.
“She’s not fucking living here; she’s existing,” I explain, realizing Tatum has been as miserable as I have. She told the truth. She hasn’t been with anyone but me. This pregnancy, it’s my baby. She’s not going to be alone. We are not going to be apart.
“This is her home! Her friends are here.”
“Her friends aren’t paying attention to what she fucking needs. Now move,” I sneer.
“Or what?” she challenges.
I drop the clothes on the floor, grab her by the waist, lift her, walk her out of the bedroom, drop her to her feet, and then turn around and shut the door behind me.
“Angelo,” Tatum sighs.
“You have no idea what you’ve done by getting yourself pregnant by me,” I scold.
“Right. It was the plan!” she cries. “Find a muse, use him, fall in love with him, and get pregnant by a man who will never want me or his child because he’s too scared to live!” Every word is strained, like it’s causing her physical pain.
“Is that what I am?” I ask, shoving the pile in her suitcase.
“I’m not even sure I’m going to keep—”
“You wanna end this pregnancy, that’s your choice. But I sure as fuck am not going to plant a fucking seed and watch you drown it in caffeine and feeling sorry for yourself,” I snap.
“Like you do?” she snaps back.
“Is it selfish not to want the woman I love to suffer the fate of all the others in my life, Tatum?” I roar at her. “Is that fucking selfish!”
“You are not at fault for a damn thing—”
“Shut your mouth right now, get the shit you need, and let’s go.”
“You think I’m going with you when you’re—”
“I’m not asking you, Tatum; I’m telling you.” I zip up the overstuffed suitcase and storm toward the bedroom door. When I open it, Melanie is standing in front of me, arms crossed.
“You can’t do this to her!” she yells at me, and then starts the same shit—crying.
“Well, she clearly can’t do it alone. Now move or I’ll move you... again.”
This time, she moves.
I grab another suitcase and storm back into the room.
“I’m not going to use this child to make you—”
“Like you used me?”
“If I had known that you—”
“Were a murderer, a cursed man, a virgin? If I was what, Tatum?” I walk over and open her top dresser drawer, pulling out handfuls of socks and undergarments, tossing them into the bag.
I hear her sniff loudly again and look over my shoulder at her.
“Don’t fucking cry, Tatum.”
“Don’t yell at me. I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you! I didn’t want to. It wasn’t a choice, Angelo; it just happened. So just go, leave, pretend I don’t exist because—”
“Enough! That’s enough, dammit.” Frustration and pain consume me. This is a mess. One big fucking mess.
I storm toward her and grab the back of her head. A slight gasp escapes her pretty pink lips when I pull her closer. Then a moan escapes when I kiss her, taste her, rub my tongue up and down hers. Her body nearly goes limp, and I grab and pick her up, still kissing her.
She kisses me back now, grabbing my hair and sobbing into my mouth. I pull back to tell her, ask her... Hell, I would beg her to stop crying if I knew it would work.
“You can’t be here.” She kisses my face over and over again. “You’ll get in trouble.”
“I don’t care,” I admit, pushing my face against her lips as she kisses me repeatedly.
“You need to go back, and you need to clear your name.”
“You’ll come with me. I need to make sure you’re okay now more than ever. If there is any fucking chance you can get sick or hurt in any way—”
“I love you,” she says, looking into my eyes and pushing her forehead against mine.
“Then God help us both.” I grip her elbows and push her back, though her kissing and touching me is so fucking nice. “Let’s get you packed.”
“There’s too much,” she says, laughing and crying at the same time, which would have been confusing as hell to me a month ago. Now, my heart and soul understands.
I want her. I need her. I love her.
“Then just get what you need now.” I walk past her and out the bedroom door, past her friend, who I don’t bother looking at.
I open cabinets in the kitchen to find garbage bags because her place will be full of roaches if food and half-filled Starbucks cups are left for an indefinite amount of time.
