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“Well, enlighten me then, Prince Fuck Face!”
“You’re just a woman afraid that she’s worthy of being loved. The idea that someone could love you more than life itself scares the living shit out of you. So you play this party girl act because you think it will save you from it. You think that if you keep spinning the lie that you’ll eventually believe it yourself. And you want to, so fucking badly, because the alternative terrifies you.”
“Well, aren’t you just a regular Dr. Phil!” I yell in frustration.
The most frustrating part of it all is that I know he’s right.
His love does terrify me.
“Tell me I’m wrong, Percy. Look me in the eye and fucking tell me.”
“What makes you so fucking certain that you’re right? Who the fuck are you to tell me how I feel, huh?”
That’s right Percy! Go on the offensive!
He turns away with another laugh. He throws his hands up in the air and yells out a handful of words in French.
“You still don’t fucking have a clue!” he says as he turns to face me. “How the fuck do you think you ended up handcuffed to your bed, Percy? And not just here. Bangkok. Vegas. Montreal. Mexico. Sydney. All those fucking times you woke up naked and handcuffed. How the fuck do you think it happened? Magical fucking leprechauns?”
The events of all those trips play through my mind like a video of my greatest hits.
It clicks that he’s been there each and every time. And not out of coincidence either.
It’s like finding the last piece of the puzzle that has been missing for years. But when you pulled back the couch cushion, there it is, staring at you in the face.
Anton—my prince and my Silver Fox—is that last piece.
And I’m the puzzle.
