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It worked, at least partway. He didn’t say anything. I could still feel his anger radiating off him… but it was less than a moment before.
“I had no right to ask about any of that,” I continued.
“You’re goddamn right you had no right to ask,” he snapped, but the fury was gone out of his voice now. Now it was just righteous indignation.
I couldn’t blame him. If he’d asked me how many men I’d slept with, especially in the same tone of voice I’d used, I think I would have told him exactly how he could have gone and fucked himself.
The only difference was, I’d been faking it. I just wanted information.
“I told you I get jealous,” I said defensively. The defensive part was fake, too.
“That doesn’t give you the right to – ”
“I know. I know.”
We stood there in awkward silence.
Well… it was quite possibly awkward for him. For me, it was calculated… though my heart was beating faster out of fear.
How far should I push it?
Fuck it.
I might not get another shot.
“If you didn’t sleep with her, but you… were with the rest… why is her picture up here?” I asked.
His expression hardened, and he didn’t answer.
At first I thought I’d blown it – pushed him too far.
But then he spoke. “You remember when you said you lost somebody in LA?”
“Yeah,” I said softly.
“Well… she was somebody I lost, too.”
My emotions churned. I couldn’t tell whether I was happy he seemed to miss her… or terrified that maybe he was just sorry he’d gone too far in a moment of anger.
“How did you know her – ” I started.
“Drop it,” he said coldly, and walked out of the room.
4
Things didn’t exactly improve from there.
I walked out into the main room, got my discarded clothes from the hallway, and went back into the bedroom to dress. The entire time he stayed with his back towards me, his hands braced on the counter, as the eggs and bacon he’d set out so nicely for our breakfast grew cold.
While I dressed, I considered whether I should press for more information – for about half a second.
That was a resounding ‘no.’
Then I weighed whether I should try and make nice.
I wanted to… but some glimmer of intuition told me that wasn’t the way to go.
The ‘psycho bitch’ route probably wouldn’t get me a call back – and I wanted a call back, because I still wanted to know more – so I opted for the sympathy ploy instead.
