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Again, except for him.
When it comes to him and him saying dirty things, I turn into a tomato.
Like I did back in Callie’s and my brother’s house that night. Or even before, at the restaurant and at the bar.
And while it was okay before when I was obsessed with him, I hate it now.
Just another one of the reasons why I need to find closure and finally move on from him.
I let out a breath.
Quivering and shaky.
As I say, “As fascinating as all this is, you still haven’t answered my question. Are you —”
“Yes.”
“What?”
He exhales a breath. “I am free tomorrow night.”
“Y-you are?”
“That’s what I said.”
I know he did.
I know that. But the thing is that this is a big deal for me.
Even though this isn’t a date and I’m not asking him to meet me with any romantic intentions — my intentions are actually the opposite of that — it’s still something that I’ve thought about a lot. It’s still something that I wanted very, very badly. To be able to go out with him, share a meal at a restaurant like a normal couple. A couple whose life isn’t as complicated as ours clearly was.
So I take a moment to absorb this.
That he said yes to give me something that I’ve always wanted.
But now have no use for.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat, twisting the edges of my pillowcase.
“Okay.”
“It’s not a date though,” I remind him, and of course myself.
“It’s a business meeting.”
“Yes. A business meeting.”
“Noted.”
“And I…”
“You what?”
I close my eyes for a second. Then, “I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“I-I mean, obviously there’s no reason for me to trust you or anything you say. You’re not exactly a good guy.”
“I’m not, no.”
“And you do deserve to get beaten up by my brother.”
“I do, yeah.”
“But I…” I am twisting and twisting the pillowcase. “I don’t want you to.”
There’s a prolonged silence then.
Followed by his quiet, “You don’t want me to.”
“No.”
“Why?” he growls, almost angrily.
“Because that’s not what I want from you. I don’t want you to get beaten up by him. I don’t…” I sigh. “What you did, you didn’t do to him. You did it to me. You broke my heart. You made me cry. I’m your girl, aren’t I? Your heartbroken, lovelorn, feisty Firefly.”
“You are,” he rasps.
It steals my breath for a second. “So I get to decide then. I get to decide what your punishment should be.”
Exactly.
The plan that I have to get closure and move on with my life: this is it.
Punishment and revenge.
I’ll exact revenge for what he did, punish him and finally, finally move on.
“You.”
“Yes. Me. Not him, not even you. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. So then I don’t want you to make any more of your attempts at punishment. I don’t want you to involve him in something that’s between you and me. So you have to promise to keep this between us. Our meeting tomorrow and whatever happens after. You have to promise to never, not ever, use it for your own purposes.”
“I won’t,” he says immediately and God, sincerely.
Like he’s being chastised and he doesn’t even care about it. He’s okay with whatever I choose to do to him.
It makes guilt pinch my chest a little but I ignore it.
At some point I have to do something for myself. I have to think about myself first. I’ve already given everything to him and he rejected it, didn’t he? Not to mention, he didn’t think twice before doing things for himself.
So why should I care?
I let out a relieved breath. “Okay then. Tomorrow at six.”
“Tomorrow at six.”
Twenty minutes before six, there comes a knock at my door.
It reverberates in my belly.
And between my thighs.
Like the beat of a drum.
Because I already know who it is.
Because I can feel him through the space. Through the door and through the living room and the hallway, all the way back to the bathroom where I’m standing in front of the mirror. If I close my eyes and let it, I know that I can also feel his heat, the way the very air parts itself to make room for him.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
I have to keep my wits about me.
Which have been scattered ever since I woke up this morning, unable to believe that I actually did it.
I actually set things into motion.
For my quest to un-break my heart.
And the fact that he’s right outside my door instead of waiting for me in front of the restaurant like I told him to, is screwing up my carefully gathered courage and control.
Still I walk out of my bathroom, all calmly and coolly.
Instead of showing how freaked out I am, I paste a neutral expression on my face and open the door.
And all my attempts at keeping my wits about me vanish.
All my thoughts vanish too, chased away by that drumbeat between my legs.
