Page 55 of I Love My Mistake
I don’t answer. I’m so angry with myself, because for the life of me I can’t help but be elated by his presence. His being here should be repulsive to me, but I’m so happy that he’s here! The conflict is a nightmare I can’t wake from. Tears blur my vision and I can’t think of a single thing to say.
His head turns as though on a swivel and he glares at me, raking over my body because it’s plain that I’m dressed-up and in his mind this means I had a date with Mark, maybe not our first. The jealousy bursting out from his skin is intoxicating. To see how much he cares, so plainly on his face... I can’t believe it!
“Who was that? Why aren’t you answering me?” He aches as asks. He isn’t hiding the torture inside him. I want to punish him. I want him to hurt more than he hurt me, if that’s even possible.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” I whisper.
“Fine!” he growls and yanks free of the visual hold I’ve got him in.
He storms by me to the front door. From deep inside my soul comes an anger unknown to me. As he passes me, I leap onto his back, clawing at his head and snarling, “How dare you come here and act like you own me!” He spins in circles, growling at me as I kick at him with my dangling legs, holding on for dear life. He reaches back, grabs hold of my thighs and wrestles me to the ground. He pins my arms down. I fight and twist against him, tears racing. I’m overpowered by the ravenous desire for him to kiss me or die, or both.
I yell into his face, “I hate you! I hate you!”
“Stop it! Stop it, Nicole!” he roars. The war rages inside him, mirrored back to me in his eyes – both of us haunted and tormented by impossibility.
He lunges and kisses me hard on the mouth. I bite his lip harder. He yells and jumps off me as blood oozes out from a small hole I made with my teeth. Both our chests expand and contract rapidly with our wailing heartbeats as we stare furiously at each other. I scramble to a seated position, fast, holding onto the floor with both hands as I stare at him, looking like a crazy woman – no more crazy than he is.
He turns to leave and freezes, torn. I can’t stop myself from whispering, “Michael…oh God… don’t go.”
He grabs the door handle, his knuckles white like they were when they gripped the canvas. All the muscles in his back tense up, beneath the weight of his decision. He jerks the door open, leaves without looking back, and slams it shut. A sob rips from my heart and I collapse beneath its brothers and sisters, crying for what seems like hours until I fall asleep in the fetal position in the middle of an unforgiving floor, once more.