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“I said,go.”
My shoulders shake, my entire frame trembling as the swirl of emotions thrashes violently through me, as destructive as an earthquake. I bend my head in defeat and look at my hands. How they clutch the sink for support, white knuckling me through the pain. How the red of my nail polish looks like blood against the white porcelain.
It’s impossibly hard to remain upright. All I want to do is crumple to the floor. My hands keep me steady. He needs to leave before I completely fall apart.
I hear him close the remaining distance between us and then his hands are on my shoulders and he’s flipping me around.
Something like a sob catches in my throat.
I swallow it down.
I shove at him, hard.
I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.
His eyes fall to the place on his chest where I pushed him but he doesn’t move backwards. Instead, he reaches for me, pulling me into him.
I shove again. When he still doesn’t move, I do it again.
And again.
And again.
It’s like all the dark energy explodes out of me at once. I’m fighting like a woman possessed, years of bottled-up pain and anger and fear being leveled indiscriminately and unfairly at the only person who’s ever protected me.
The voice takes aim where it knows it’ll hurt most and fires. Hateful thoughts crash against the walls of my skull like balls in a lottery machine.
Push him away before he rejects you.
You never deserved him anyway.
“Just go!” I scream.
But it’s like fighting with a brick wall. He takes it, takes all the ugliness I hurl at him, both physical and emotional, and doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move an inch. His eyes are trained on my face and they see too much. There’s a matching world of chaos in them, as if my pain is somehow hurting him.
Finally, I shove him with enough sustained strength that he takes a step back.
He’s right back on me before I can blink.
“No,” he snarls. He locks me against him with his arm around my waist and his hand on the back of my neck. His heart is pounding against my ear but his body is warm and big and inviting.
Comforting.
I don’t understand why he won’t justleave.
The bubble of emotion travels upwards in my throat and releases from my mouth in the form of a keening cry.
“Stop, Tristan. I want you to leave, I don’t need this right now.”
“No,” he answers, mouth now pressed against my ear.
I’m fighting, but fighting a losing battle. He’s bigger, taller, stronger than me and he holds me firmly against him. The only way I’ll get out of this embrace is if he chooses to let me.
“Why won’t you just go?” I yell, completely split open. I feel like a raw, exposed nerve. “Let me go,” I beg. “Just let me go…”
My voice catches on a sob.
No.
