Chapter 46 #2
“Oh my God,” I throw my hands up. “You know what don't worry about it. I've asked you six ways till Sunday why you're angry at me; why you were that infuriated. Bro, you never slapped me before like that.”
“I have slapped you before.”
“I'm not talking about the light little slapping that we used to do with sex. You bitch slapped me in my face!”
“What do you want, for me to apologize?” he asks, rolling his eyes, zero remorse whatsoever.
“I want you to be honest!!!! Just for once in your fucking life be honest! I come in this morning and it's like I did something personally to grieve you and I don't, to this moment, know what the hell it is that I did!!” I yell in desperation.
“It's because…!” he starts but then stops, his jaw working as if he's fighting it.
Quietly I await his answer, not wanting to spook him.
Both of our chests are rising and falling hard.
“Because… I'm angry.”
“I get that much,” my eyes widen, waiting for him to say anything else but the obvious.
He takes in a shaky breath, still not looking at me. “I'm angry because I messed up… and now… and… we fucked each other.”
“You're angry because we fucked each other?” I ask, confused.
“I'm angry because we fucked each other… and… and you're fucking someone else.”
Instantly my face softens. It's one of those strange feelings when you don't even realize that your face was tense or wearing a tight expression.
Lincoln still doesn't look at me.
I can't help but smile, something that seems to catch him off guard and causes him to look over at me frowning.
“Glad you find it so fucking funny,” he mumbles angrily.
“I haven't slept with anyone else. Not since you and I slept together anyway.”
“I'm proud of you that you haven't slept with anyone since this morning.”
“That's not what I mean Lincoln,” I chuckle. “You were mad at me for something I didn't even do.”
“Then where were you?” he inquires as he stares over at me.
His eyes are dark but yet hollow at the same time, as if whatever is eating at him finally scraped the last layer away, leaving nothing behind.
“I was with someone. Yes. I was on a date.”
“Why couldn't you have told me that? Why was it such a secret?”
“You really want me coming in and telling you every time I go out on a date with someone?”
“How are you sleeping with me but then going on dates with people?”
I swear to God this man's lack of self-awareness is staggering.
“You really confuse me Lincoln. Because you ask these questions, and you have absolutely zero self-awareness.
We… are not married. The same way that you can cheat on me, while we're married, is the same way I can go out on a fucking date while we're not.
It ain't that hard. I don't police who you decide to sleep with.
So, you shouldn't feel as though you have the right to police who I sleep with.
And, even though I didn't have sex with anyone, I'm not going to promise you that I won't sometime soon.”
His face darkens.
Pulling my lips between my teeth, my shoulders shrug. “All of this doesn't give you the right to lock me out of a house that I live in, something we both agreed on, or for you to put your hands on me.”
“You put your hands on me first,” he mumbles.
“I understand that—”
“—And I didn't hit you any harder than you hit me.”
“Have you ever hit Sarah?” I ask him, more out of curiosity.
He stares down at his hands and his lap before he rests his left elbow on his driver-side door panel, his index finger tracing his bottom lip as he stares out the windshield.
“No.”
“So why would you do that to me?” I challenge him.
“Did you not like it?”
“Did you do it specifically because you thought I would like it?”
The initial response from him is silence, before he concedes with a simple,
“No.”
I know I'm supposed to be outraged and upset, tossing epithets his way, kicking him in the nuts, punishing him for daring to treat me that way, but with him… everything is so messy and toxic.
I don't feel confused. But I do feel trapped. Trapped in this tumble cycle of endless feedback loop of loving someone and needing to stay away from them but not wanting to even though I have full knowledge they're bad for me.
“You hurt me Lincoln. And what hurt me worse is the notion that you somehow are more self-righteous than I am. It's that delusion that causes you to constantly forget why we're even in the situation in the first place.”
“How can I forget? You're always reminding me,” he counters.
“Because you're always forgetting!” I shoot back.
The claustrophobia lifts only slightly and now I'm angry. I'm frustrated and I'm angry and he gets on my last nerve.
Tensing my jaw, I kneel on my seat and reach over, using the knuckle on my index finger to press hard against his temple before pushing. His head lightly sways to the left.
His eyes focus on the windshield as he grinds his teeth, attempting to curb his anger.
Without turning his head to face me, his eyes lock on mine, as if challenging me.
“What, you want to hit me again?” I challenge him once more as I push the right side of his face again. “Go ahead. Why don't you hit me again? Show me how strong you are,” my voice comes out in a hush of frustration and anger.
Breathing out through his nose, he continues staring through the windshield and away from me.
“Why don't you look at me, bitch?”
His head turns slightly in my direction to glare at me.
My eyes open wider in eager anticipation. “Oooo. I called you out of your name. Whatchu going to do now?”