34. Chapter 34
Beau
Stushie
Translation: Argument
Usage: To describe a heated dispute or when someone is making a scene
“What’s wrong?”
Torin’s shoulders are tight, his face flushed a deep angry red. His eyes aren’t soft like they were last night, and… he’s shaking. What could’ve possibly happened?
I rush toward him, but he jerks back, slamming his hip against my desk, sending several pens to the floor. I stop, put my hands up, like it might undo whatever I’ve already done.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, brain scrambling, replaying, his sounds, his body under mine. Maybe I was too rough with him. But he’d pulled me closer after. Nothing about it felt wrong.
“Aye, hurt is a good word,” he says, his voice quavering. “To start.”
“Torin.” I try again, stepping half a pace closer, then stop. He looks like a frightened dog backed into a corner, like he might snap at any moment. “Torin, what happened? Did I do something?”
“Aye, ya did something,” he says, his accent the thickest I’ve ever heard.
I search his face, looking for something, anything. There’s nothing there but anger. What the hell is going on? I drag in a breath, force it out slow. Don’t react. Don’t escalate.
But I can already feel him slipping away from me.
“Is this about last night?” I ask, trying to gather more information, trying to fix whatever this is before it gets worse. “I’m sorry if I rushed you. I promised I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but if I did, then—”
“Aye, it’s about last night,” he snaps, his fists clenched so tight the tendons stand out in his wrists. “And all the nights before. It’s about you pretending to like me, luring me in, and then using me to get ahead.”
Pretending? Using him? His words don’t make sense. I stare at him, waiting for the rest, but it doesn’t come. Confusion curdles into anger, and I clamp it down. Two hot heads won’t get us anywhere good.
“Torin, I do like you,” I say, my voice calm as possible, trying to placate, trying to reassure him. “I’ve done all I can to make it clear just how much I like you. Please, just, whatever it is, I’m sure we can figure it out. Just—”
“There is no we, Beau.” His vehemence lands squarely on my chest. I feel it, physically, like something cracking open inside me.
“There’s me,” he says, jabbing a finger into his own chest, breath coming fast, “and there’s you.
” His hand cuts toward me, sharp and dismissive.
“And you don’t belong here. You never have. ”
I flinch. The air in the room feels heavy. I focus on breathing. But I need to focus on Torin. What the—?
“You’ve only lasted this long because of me, but I’m done. You can charm everyone else with your accent and your dimples, but you’ll not be receiving any more of my help.”
What on earth is he talking about?
“I can’t believe I fell for it,” he mutters, shaking his head and looking down. “For you.” Then his head snaps up, eyes narrowed, voice sharp. “But those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
He fell for me? I open my mouth, but I’ve got nothing. None of what he’s saying connects. I don’t even know what I’m defending myself against. Torin starts toward the door.
No.
I block his way. “Torin, you have to tell me what’s wrong,” I say, and I hear it. The plea, my desperation. How pathetic. Exactly the kind of man people walk away from. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did.”
“Get out of my way, Beau.” His tone drops, and it’s worse than the shouting. I stand my ground. His eyes are on my chest, and the shift hits like a blow. Last night, he couldn’t touch me enough. Now he can’t even look at me.
I know this. This exact moment. He’s looking for a reason to abandon me. Just like all the others.
I’m not enough. I’m never enough.
And I still don’t know what the fuck I did.
“Torin, please—” I hate how I sound, begging, but I can’t stop. “Please, please don’t do this.” My voice breaks as the tears rise. “I know you’re scared, but please. Please don’t push me away.”
How is this happening? One perfect night and it’s over?
“I—” My throat tightens. “I don’t want you to go.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Too much. Always too much.
A tear tracks down my cheek. I don’t wipe it away.
Torin looks up at me and his expression falters, jaw loosening, eyes widening like he didn’t expect—then it’s gone. His mouth sets hard, his anger somehow increasing at my distress.
“Get. The fuck. Out. Of my. Way. You stupid. Fucking. Yank. I’ll not tell you again.”
My body goes rigid as his words land, striking blows.
He starts past me, and this time I don’t stop him. I turn, watch as he grabs his shoes, getting out of here as fast as he can.
Like I’m something he needs to escape from.
I run a hand through my hair, still teetering between hope and hurt. “Torin,” I say, voice breaking again.
He whirls on me, eyes blazing. I take a step back. The door is wide open behind him now, cold air spilling in. He doesn’t leave. Not yet. He just stands there, waiting.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
He crosses his arms, shoes in hand. He’s already made up his mind.
“Please,” I whisper, another tear falling. “We can work through whatever it is. Together.”
Nothing. Not a word. But he hasn’t left yet. That must mean something. I need to keep him here till his anger subsides, but I don’t know what else to say. Now doesn’t seem like the time to tell him I love him, so I get as close to the truth as possible.
“Please,” I say again. “I need you.”
He looks at the floor, eyes flitting back and forth like he’s thinking. Hope flares. I take a step toward him, and he looks up. There’s less fire in his eyes now, something softer, sadder. “Aye,” he says quietly, “I know you need me.” My breath catches. “But that’s not my problem anymore.”
I stagger back.
And something in me snaps.
I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried so many times with him. I’ve swallowed every sharp word, every cold shoulder, put in all the effort, even after the way he first treated me, and now he has the audacity to scream at me, demean me, and then leave without explaining himself.
Fuck. That.
“Fine,” I say, standing up to my full height, the hurt and disappointment meeting inside me, turning to boiling anger. “You want to go back to the way things were when no one at the university wanted to hang out with you because you were such an asshole? Great. Do that.”
He blanches but I go on, seeing red.
“You want the faculty to spend half of their lectures trying to placate you because you can’t help but be the smartest douchebag in class? Enjoy yourself.”
I hear the words coming out of my mouth. I see his hurt and anger returning. But I can’t stop.
“I should’ve known from the beginning,” I say, the words coming faster now.
“After the way you treated me, few others would have forgiven you, much less befriended you. But I swept it all aside.” My voice breaks as the fury begins to weaken, sadness ready to take its place.
“Then I fell for you. I truly put myself out there for a guy, for the first time in my life, and you can’t even do me the courtesy of telling me what’s wrong? You won’t even give me that?”
He looks like he’s about to argue, but I don’t let him start.
“You want to push me away?” I say. “Fine. Go.”
His jaw works back and forth, staring me down. I stare right back.
The sorrow threatens to overwhelm me as the fire in my chest dies out. I need him to make a decision. Stay and talk it out or go. But I can’t stand here like this for much longer, so I decide for him. I give him what he wants.
I point to the door. My hand is trembling and I don’t try to hide it. I take a deep breath and work to keep any more tears from falling as I say, “Get. The fuck. Out.”
The words scrape on the way out, but they land.
He stares at me for another moment. Then, something in his expression closes. “Don’t ever speak to me again,” he says from the doorway, not looking at me.
Then he’s out of the house, still barefoot in his rush to leave me behind.
I stagger to the stairs and sit hard, my legs not holding me anymore. The door is still open. I shove it closed with my foot. Then I put my head in my hands and cry harder than I have in years.
I thought I’d become numb to the disappointment of men who didn’t want to stay, who’d get what they wanted and leave. But it’s no small sting of sadness I feel at my current loss. It’s a whole-body ache. Because this time, it was Torin.