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“It does, but it shouldn’t. Not for you.”
“I’m just glad you realize how traumatizing all this is. I thought you might be dismissive of the way I felt.”
He frowns, pushing the hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear. “I would never. We had to take care of business earlier, as you probably understand, but now that it’s past us, I’d like to talk to you about it.”
I smile, feeling a warmth in my chest at his effort. He’s never had to deal with someone like me before, and he obviously doesn’t know how, but he’s trying. That means a lot to me.
I trace my finger across his chest, pulling his shirt open and drawing across his tattoos. I have difficulty looking into his eyes. Every time I do, I lose the words I was about to say.
“I think you’re really sweet under all that bravado,” I whisper, not daring to look into his eyes as my heart beats faster.
“I try to be for you because you deserve to be treated better,” he replies, his voice a throaty grumble.
“You’re doing a great job.”
He laughs through his nose. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. I think I’m the one who needs to get their shit together, honestly. You don’t deserve to have me acting like a lunatic when you’re just trying to do what’s best for both of us. I still feel bad about tearing up the bedroom.”
“I think we talked about this,” he says softly. “I’m not mad.”
“Yeah, but I’m mad at myself. I have no control over my emotions and it’s obviously a problem,” I reply. “I feel like I’m one person, and the next day, I’m someone else entirely. It’s always been like that.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
I punch him in the chest. “No, you think I’m sick?”
“Ow, no. I was just saying you might be bipolar or something. I don’t know if you’ve ever considered that.”
I pause for a moment, thinking. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I think Iamright.”
“Is it that bad?”
He sighs. “I mean, for someone in your position, I’d expect you to be all over the place mentally, but you have some pretty extreme swings. It’s not just the anger, but also the positivity. I can never predict the way you’re going to react.”
I wasn’t expecting this to turn into a therapy session, but I’m kind of happy that it has. Nobody else has ever had the balls to call me out on my unpredictable behavior. My father always catered to it, and my ex-boyfriends assumed being a psycho was part of the package.
Well, it is, but it doesn’t have to be so extreme.
“I don’t want to take medication,” I blurt. “Just saying. Does it matter if I’m bipolar or not if I’m not going to be taking anything for it?”
“You don’t have to take anything. Calm down. I think just knowing what’s behind your mood is helpful. It’s like if you got drunk but didn’t know you were drunk. How would you stop yourself from doing something crazy, thinking you were making good decisions?”
“I wouldn’t because I’d be drunk,” I reply with a laugh.
“Okay, bad example, but you get my point, right? I’m not an expert on this, admittedly, but it would be good to look into it.”
“Okay, I’ll see a doctor when we get back home, and you’ll also see a doctor about your grumps,” I tease.
“I’m too fucked up for any doctor to fix, I can assure you.”
“Maybe you need a woman to fix you,” I say, wiggling my butt against him. “That might work better on a pervert like you.”
He tries to push me off, but I’m glued to his body and unwilling to move.
“I’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard you push,” I say.
