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“Why? You’re no different.” I retreat another step and stare up at the ceiling, blinking and silently yelling at my emotions to stop being such a pansy.
“You and I both know I’m nothing like that. Inevertouched anyone but you when we were together.”
I dip my chin after I’ve calmed down the tears and bumped up the anger, catching on to the past tense of his words. “Oh, but what about now that we’re not together?”
“Still haven’t touched anyone. Don’t want to touch anyone.” He raises his arms. “Now that we have that cleared up, drink some water and sleep that bullshit off. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Fine,” I snap, maintaining my stomping game into the living room. I kick off my shoes, snatch the pillows on the couch, and hurl them across the room. Next, I start grabbing cushions and chucking them.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping, like you told me to.” I throw the last cushion down. “No way am I sleeping in a bed you could’ve screwed her in.” My drunken mind doesn’t believe him. My wonderful, pessimistic friend—aka tequila—is screaming he’s a liar. “I don’t want to sleep here, but it seems it’s the only choice I have, considering you threatened physical violence on my new roomie.”
He stays quiet, standing in the corner, and I drop down on the couch.
I suck in a breath. My intoxicated anger has shifted to intoxicated sadness. “Why did you make me do it?”
“Do what?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“Make me fall in love with you.” I sniffle, a failed attempt to suppress my tears.
“I should ask you the same.” He releases a hard sigh. “ There’s no damn reason for us not to be together.”
I lift my head, and my back is stiff as I sit against the bare couch. “Losing Devin was nowhere near as painful as losing you. I offered you too much of my heart.” Tears swell in my eyes, and I wipe them away with the back of my arm. “I would’ve accepted you having a daughter, accepted her into my heart, because she’s a part of you, and I love every part of you. You never gave me that chance, and now, we’ll never have that chance again.”
“Sierra,” he gently says.
I stretch on the couch to my side, turning my back to him. “Forget it. I’m over it, and I need sleep.”
All I hear is a sharp sigh from him, and the room turns miserably silent.
Minutes pass.
No words.
Did he leave?
I reposition myself, still facing the rear of the couch but allowing myself to peek behind my back.
My throat tightens when I see Maliki sitting on the floor by my feet, his elbow resting on his knee as he massages his forehead.
The air turns heavy as we remain quiet—a silence that’s too loud.
Finally, I yawn, my eyes feeling weighted as I shut them.
I don’t know how much time passes before he lifts me in his arms and puts me in his bed.
I’m too exhausted to fight it.
* * *
My throat isdry and scratchy when I wake up.
My pounding head is calling me an idiot.
I rub my forehead and glance around his bedroom.
Relentless jerk.
