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"What? No. You’re more than that," he argues.
“It sounds like I made your dick hard, and you’re rich enough to get what you want, when you want it, and you wanted me. You wanted tofuckme,” I correct.
"I flew across the world for you!" he bellows.
"For anightwith me," I correct him.
"What?"
"You flew across the world for a night with me. To fuck me, don't romanticize it."
His jaw shakes with unrestrained anger. “What do you want, Henley?”
He takes a poignant step backward, dropping his ass to the edge of the bed where we were only moments ago consumed by one another.
"Nothing." My bottom lip tips out dismissively. "Absolutely fucking nothing."
"Jesus fuck," he spits, rubbing his hands over his face. "I have work. A fucking job that I love, one that pays me really fucking well. One that lets me jump on a plane at any given opportunity to see someone I love. I can't just up and leave it. I have responsibilities."
“Taking photos of women in their underwear.” The heavy sound of my heartbeat perforates my eardrums.
He laughs. The sound full of animosity and judgment. "Says you, who pours booze down the throats of horny backpackers. A rewarding job, Henley?" he incites.
"You're an asshole."
He's quiet for a moment, my words sinking into pores and twisting his face horribly. "That's all you'll ever see, isn't it? How everyone fails you? Instead of feeling the way they love you. I dropped everything and flew to an entirely different country to see you, and still, it's not enough."
"Of course, it's not enough!" I scream. "I love you. Why would you flying in for a quick and nasty fuck ever be enough?" I step forward, only to back up once again, needing to force a space of separation between us.
"Then come with me," he implores.
He begs, he pleads, with four simple words.
I shake my head.
He doesn't know what he's asking.
"Don't do that, don't fucking deny me before you've even thought it through."
His posture has moved from hostile to defeated. Elbows rested on his knees, body completely still, eyes downcast.
I hate that I want to reach out and touch him. “Of course, I’ve thought it through.”
His eyes lift lazily.
“I think about packing up my life and finding you so much, it’s embarrassing,” I choke out.
“What’s stopping you?”
"I'd be the only one sacrificing."
His body lifts in the same way his eyes did, slowly, methodically. Only this time, there isn’t anything lazy about the movement. It’s soaked in bitterness.
"Sacrificingwhat?” he barks. “Theshitholeyou live in? The surface friends you meet and leave because you're too fucking stubborn to let anyone in?” He stands, stepping toward me. “What the fuck would you be sacrificing by being with me?"
"Me," I whisper desperately. "I'd be beholden to you the way I was to my parents. I don't want to be dependent on anyone again. I can’t . . . Iwillnot build my life around you. I need a life of my own."
Scratching his neck, it reddens with frustration. "I'm not a fucking prison guard. I just want you with me."
