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The unfairness. The hypocrisy of making me trust him when he didn't have the decency to return the favor. How many times did I come home and ask him what he did that day, only for him to lie to my face? Omit, I remind myself. It wasn't all lies. He just hid an immense piece of himself while carving me open and claiming my heart.
A couple nights ago we laid in bed, half asleep. He stroked my hair, listening to me as I recalled the little pieces of my mom and dad that I remembered from my childhood. "I've never told anyone that," I'd said. I felt so close to him. So vulnerable. And now? Now I feel like such a fool because he could have told me then, but he didn't. I sort through a hundred other moments that he could have told me, and he didn't say a damn word. Not until he absolutely had to.
I shiver, my jaw clenched, as I roll my shoulders. I'd hulk out and flip his desk if I wasn't 5'2" with all the raw, threatening power of a Carebear. I wish I had an expensive glass of wine to throw at the wall. I bet the shattering glass and wine dripping down the paint would be satisfying as hell right now.
How did this morning go so far off the rails? An hour ago, I was planning breakfast and a lazy day with Ben. Now I'm imagining destroying his office just to soothe my anger. I need to get out of here. But I can't go back to my fucking house, now can I? Not when someone has been in there, touching my things and doing god knows what. Bile rises in my throat as I fight back that train of thought. I literally can't go there yet. I want to go home, but Ben is the only place that feels like home.
Felt like home. Tears are sliding down my face, landing hot and wet on the front of my shirt. I'm not even sure when they started, but Ben stands, cupping my face in his hands, brushing my tears off my cheeks with his thumbs.
"I'm so sorry, Lilah. Truly, I--" His voice is wracked with emotion, but I push his hands away. He feels so good, but I know that if I let him touch me now, he'll make my anger melt away and I am not ready to let go of this.
"I need to go," I say as I turn and leave the room. I beat him to the kitchen, sweeping my belongings back into my purse and heading for the front door. He follows me silently.
"Lilah. No. Stay here." It's not a request. His voice is commanding and if I wasn't so pissed off, I'd probably be turned on as hell right now. Too bad for Ben I'm ready to spit nails.
"How dare you?!" I yell, whipping around to face him. "How dare you make demands right now?! This," I say, gesturing back and forth between him, "was just sex. And now it's over." I regret the words as soon as they fly out of my mouth but turn away and open the door without apologizing.
Ben's enormous hand hits the door before I can open it more than a few inches and he leans on it with all of his body weight, slamming it shut again. He doesn't touch me, but he uses his massive frame to cage me in as I turn to face him. I'm afraid I'll see rage burning in his eyes.
But when my eyes meet his, there's no anger or violence. All I see is desperate tenderness. And hurt. I may have gone too far with that parting shot.
"I'll let you go in a minute, I promise," he says softly. "But you're not leaving like that. This isn't just sex. You and I both know this is more than that. I made a mistake and I'm sorry. If you need some space, that's ok. But I love you and I'm not letting you leave thinking I did this to hurt you."
I search his face as the blood pumps through my brain, thundering and blocking out rational thought. I give him a hard look, at war with myself on how to respond, but Ben opens the door for me, and I storm out.
He loves me? And this is how he tells me? The shitty cynical side of my brain is accusing him of saying it to manipulate me, but the rational side is fighting for control. Its squeaky little voice is all too happy to remind me that the look on his face was sincere. That voice gets louder and louder as I stomp across our respective front yards and get into my Jeep.
Ben is still watching me from his front door, leaning one hand on the door frame. The other is running its way through his curls. I eye him and debate going back and letting him wrap me up in his big muscular arms. I just need a minute to breathe and some room to think.
