Chapter 18 – Anna
EIGHTEEN
ANNA
She stayed awake for the rest of the night repeating what he’d said.
He successfully pulled the car into the parking lot of my complex and I could feel the tension subsiding in him.
We hadn’t spoken again since I asked him how much shit he was going to give me, which meant that would probably wait until Monday, but now I could feel a different sort of energy in him.
Something simmering just underneath his neutral expression.
“Thanks again,” I started when he popped open his door. “You don’t have to walk me up, I’m right there.”
He was already up the first set of steps before I could catch up to him. I’d been yammering at him the whole time about how I didn’t need him to walk me to my door when I finally stopped because we were already there.
“Keys,” he said, and because he was in such a weird mood, I didn’t think to tell him I could freaking unlock my own door. Instead, I handed him the keys.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
“I need a drink,” he announced. “Do you still have that bottle of whiskey I brought over?”
“I do.”
I don’t know why I kept it. Like I told him before, I didn’t drink the hard stuff. I didn’t drink much at all. A beer, a glass of wine here or there since I’d turned twenty-one.
I didn’t know much about my biological mother, but the assumption was she was most likely an addict who couldn’t care for her kid.
Because of that, I’d always stayed far away from drugs and limited my drinking to social occasions. I’d had two beers at the club, but any buzz from that had quickly worn off when I’d realized Claire wasn’t stopping.
But E.G. had said at the time it was an expensive bottle of whiskey, so throwing it out seemed like a wasteful thing to do. Besides, I sort of always thought that at some point he’d come back for it. Or maybe next September 28th, he’d return.
I made my way into the kitchen and pulled it out from a cabinet over the refrigerator.
I had a couple of mismatched glasses. None of them appropriate for high priced whiskey, but he would have to make do.
I filled a finger’s worth and walked it back to the living area where E.G.
was making himself comfortable on my couch.
Sitting back, legs spread, in that way only men can get away with, he lifted his arms over his head to stretch, and his t-shirt rose up over his stomach. Enough that I could see it was covered in a light smattering of hair.
It struck me as shockingly intimate. I wasn’t supposed to see that part of him. I wasn’t supposed to know what his naked stomach looked like, and yet there it was.
“Are you going to hand me my drink or are you going to just stand there?”
His words helped pull me out of my head.
I blinked, then took the few steps to the couch and handed him his drink.
The only other place to sit was my purple bean bag chair, so I settled into it, with my legs crossed, watching him warily.
Like a wild beast I’d allowed inside my apartment.
It was only a matter of time before he attacked.
Which was why I was so nervous. But also, strangely excited.
“You’re being weird,” I told him. Or I was. One of those things was true.
He took a sip of his drink and looked at me with an expression I didn’t recognize.
I thought I knew all of his expressions.
“How so?” he asked.
“Like you’re still upset with me. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
“For what, exactly?”
Was this a trick question? “E.G. it’s late. I don’t want to play games.”
He laughed at that. “Oh, Flowers, trust me. This is no game.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you on a Saturday night,” I clarified. “I’m sorry I put you in a situation you didn’t want to be in.”
He shook his head. “Nah, that’s not it. That’s not why I feel this way.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him exactly how he felt, but that seemed a little too dangerous. My heart was thudding inside my chest, my skin felt tight. I didn’t know how to break through this uncomfortableness.
“I’m sorry for letting Claire drink too much,” I tried again, thinking he might simply want a more explicit accounting for what I’d done wrong.
“Don’t be thick, Flowers. You know damn well you can’t take responsibility for other people’s actions. Only your own.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah,” I said, now fully irritated.
I stood up and walked over to where he was still spread out on my couch. Driven by some crazy impulse, I took the drink out of his hand and took a large gulp. Suddenly my whole mouth was on fire. I swallowed and then breathed out what I was sure were flames.
“There,” I said. “How about that action?”
He stood then, too. Close to me, but I wasn’t backing down.
That was the thing about E.G. You couldn’t show fear or weakness, otherwise he would roll right over you. You had to stand your ground with him. Push back when he pushed you.
He took the glass out of my hand and set it down on a table next to the couch.
Then, carefully, he placed his hands around my upper arms. He didn’t squeeze so much as he let me know I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to. I didn’t move.
“You don’t get it, Anna,” he said, softly. So softly I had to move closer to him to hear. “I’m not angry at you for any of those things. I’m angry at you for making me feel. Making me feel fear and worry. Making me feel weak and helpless. Making me feel…”
“What?” I asked him, dared him really. “What else?”
Then his hands did squeeze around my arms. He closed his eyes and I knew he was fighting some internal demon with all the willpower he had. Witnessing his struggle was amazing. Like watching a thunderstorm approach. Dark. Rumbling. Tumultuous.
Suddenly his hands were gone and he was stepping away.
No, I thought. No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to win that internal battle. He was supposed to lose!
“I have to go,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, dully. “That makes sense.”
He walked to the door while I stood there, breathing heavily, not really having any idea what just happened.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “I don’t know what the hell just happened.”
He nodded like that made sense to him, when none of it made sense to me!
“You going to be in the office on Monday?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I said, finally turning around to face him. “Unless you’re firing me?”
“No,” he said softly. “Never that.”
“Okay. Then Monday. Just like tonight didn’t happen. We’ve done that before. Right?”
His expression shifted again, only this one I recognized. Sadness. E.G. was sad and it was because of me. I hated that. Hated it when I was supposed to be the one who…
I shook my head. Trying to force the crazy thoughts out of it.
“Goodnight, Flowers. Don’t forget to lock up behind me.”
I purposefully waited until he closed the door behind him, before I moved.
Because I was too afraid, I might have asked him to stay.
And I didn’t know what that meant, either.