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“You can’t stop, can you?” That look in his eyes is back; it’s cruel. “You always gotta know. You always gotta look too close.” His grip tightens over the towel. His words seethe, “I’m not your goddamn case to solve, Detective.”
“No. You’re a mind fuck, so be a man and talk to me.”
“I am a fucking man.” He sneers, dripping inches above me, his huge pecs swelling with fury. “A man who wants you to leave.”
It hurts so much, spinning my world. The powerful pull he takes me with and then the wrecking shove he slams into me next. It feels constant. Brutal. Unfair. It dizzies my head, bashing my heart with its madness.
“So you can bury your bare cock deep inside me and pound my pussy all night until you fill me with your cum, and make us cry, but we can’t shower together?”
It’s crude. It’s harsh. It’s the truth, and it hurts like hell.
“Yes.”
That’s a punch so hard I gasp.
“What is it?” I reach for his towel. “Why is this between us?’”
“Stop!” He grabs my wrist, and it happens so fast…
It’s a trigger, firing a memory buried deep of TJ grabbing my wrist, and starting my war. My instincts fire. My mind doesn’t work, but my training does, so fast it shocks us both. My other hand grabs his wrist holding mine, twisting with force, torquing his arm around, his fingers sliding into my grasp where I bend them back, tension about to break his bones…
“Ow!” He shouts. “Fuck!”
I let go; not sure what I just did… but it hurt us both.
What just happened to me? To us?
“Sorry.” I back away. From the shock. From the sudden shame. “I’m sorry.”
I turn and run out of the bathroom. I can’t see. Disbelief clouds my logic. A flood of tears blurs my vision while I grab my jeans, still packed in my suitcase, and get dressed without thinking.
I need to leave.
What I just did; it’s bad.
I hurt him.
And that kills me.
“Cade? Where are you going?” Redix appears in the bathroom doorway. “It’s okay.”
“None of this”—I tug on a tank top—“none of this is okay.”
My tears won’t stop. Like a deep well of pain is buried inside me, and I just tapped into my darkest nightmare.
“I gotta go.”
“Don’t leave.” Despair bends his face. “We’ll be alright.”
“No, we won’t.” I cram my things into my suitcase. “We won’t be alright because you won’t talk to me, and I can’t take it anymore.”
My toiletry bag is in the bathroom behind him. Fuck it. I don’t need it.
I can’t take another second of this. Shame. Guilt. Agony. I’m suffocating.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” I say, shoving on my flip-flops, darting next for my purse. “But that’s how much this hurts me when you push me away like that, and we have to stop. Because now, I’m hurting us both.”
He steps my way.
