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“I never said that, Jordan, you know that.” I stand to block his path. He was heading for the front door.
“You fucking did.”
Once again, I get the feeling that this is a lot more personal for him than I think it is.
Maybe that’s why he’s reacting this way, but still, I’m not going to let him leave.
“You know I would never justify killing a person over a business; we’re talking about hostile takeovers. That is just business. Killing someone is not; it’s a crime,” I say to clear the air.
“Okay,” he says simply and tries to leave again, but I block his path.
“Jordan, it’s past eleven already. I can’t let you go out this late.” I look him dead in the eye.
I mean it. I’m worried about his safety more than his stupid argument, and if you want me to say that a person not making sales is the economy’s fault, then by God, it is.
He doesn't say anything more, or try to resist my blockade; instead, he nods and turns back into the house.
“I guess this is goodnight then,” he says before walking slowly towards the room I already allotted to him.
His slow walk gives me enough chance to call him back and offer to do something else rather than sleep. I know this, and yet I don’t make the move.
I’m content with watching him strut into his room with some subtle air of pride. You’d almost not notice it, but it’s there.
I take a huge swallow and almost punch my throat at the lump that forms. A lump that would only be sated and flattened by a certain pair of lips.
I take my sweet time to coordinate myself, and still, my raging emotions are those butterflies forming in my stomach and for what? We literally just had an argument where he almost walked out on me.
What are my nerves fluttering for?
Suddenly, it’s like something snaps within me, and I decide that I must go and check on him.
There’s no reason for that impulse, nothing to back why I’m going to his room right now, but my legs carry me.
One step after another equals one wrong decision that could be made right by just stopping. But I don’t stop; I move my feet down the hall to the first door by the right.
Once again, I forget my manners and just push.
It's only once I’m in the room that I realize my error, but then it is far too late.
Luckily though, Jordan isn’t naked or in any sort of compromising position as he was the last time. He’s just sitting on his bed holding a rectangular frame.
His back is turned to me, so I’m able to get a peek at the picture before he notices and hides it immediately.
Could that be the reason for his sour mood?
“I’m sorry for barging in. It’s just this stupid habit of mine,” I admit, but don’t do anything to salvage the situation like leaving the room.
“It’s fine, I guess,” he grumbles, still in his mood.
“That person in the picture, I’m guessing he was very important to you?” I ask, trying to bring back the conversation but in a comforting way.
“Something like that,” he says and shelves the picture. I would have loved to take a deeper look at it, most likely a man; he was just too familiar.
But I quell my curiosity; if he’s not willing to talk about it, then there’s no need to push the question. It would just irritate him further.
I walk over to the edge of the bed beside where he is and ask permission to sit, with my eyes looking at the space beside him and at him again.
Jordan grants me permission by making a little shift; it’s unnecessary because there’s tons of room for me to sit, but that’s his way of saying, “Yeah, go ahead.”
