Page 51 of Iron Heart
“What the fuck just happened there?” he demands.
“I… have a heart thing. A… condition.” I give a weak shrug of my shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”
Dante barks out a bewildered laugh. “The fuck it’s not! Shit, it looked like you were gonna die on me there! Jesus!” He shakes his head. “Jesus Christ. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s personal!” I protest.
“Did that happen because I got you too worked up?”
“No.”Yes. Maybe.
“I don’t believe you.” Dante’s face is stony, etched with the beginnings of anger. “Tori, are you crazy? You don’t fucking tell me that I could give you a goddamn heart attack by fucking you?”
“It’s not like that!” I protest. My heart has slowed down some, my breathing almost getting back to normal. But a sick feeling is forming in the pit of my stomach. “It’s not… I mean, I can have sex. I just have to, you know… be careful. Pay attention.”
“Fuck!” he retorts. “How the fuck is not telling me you need to be careful, being careful?”
“Dante,” I begin, frustration making it hard to find my words. “I didn’t want you to…”
“To what?” he interrupts me, a challenge in his eyes.
“To do what you’re doing now!” I cry. “I just didn’t want you to treat me like I’m breakable! Like a china doll!”
“But you fucking are!” he half-roars. “Youarefucking breakable, Tori! Christ!”
“Oh, great!” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. “This is why I didn’t tell you, Dante! This is just what I need! Another person in my life telling me I shouldn’t ever have sex, or live, or anything! I should just sit here in my old lady house living the life of an eighty year-old!”
“No the fuck I am not! I’m not saying anything of the sort,” he explodes. “Obviously, you should live! But you shouldn’t be stupid about it! Jesus.”
“Don’t call me stupid!”
“Don’tactstupid, then!”
“Would you have taken me out on your motorcycle if I’d told you I had a heart condition that meant I’m supposed to avoid excitement and stress?” I challenge.
The look in his eyes tells me his answer.
“See?” I spit out. “You say I should live, but then when push comes to shove, you’ve just proved to me why I was right not to tell you. Now you’ll never treat me normally again.”
Dante shakes his head. “This is bullshit,” he mutters. “You’re talking bullshit.”
“No I’m not. You just showed me I’m not.”
“I should leave.”
Dante stands. The bed rises as his weight leaves. He doesn’t speak as he goes over and picks up his jeans, and neither do I. I watch him dress, his jaw set, eyes stormy with an anger that mirrors mine.
My stomach churns. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want the last fifteen minutes to have happened. I want to go back. I want a do-over.
But I’m not going to get any of those things.
“I’ll see you around.” Dante’s dressed now. He turns and looks at me one last time before he leaves. It’s as though he’s staring at a stranger. “Take care of yourself,” he says tonelessly.
Then, before I can say anything back to him, he’s gone.
I hold on to my anger at Dante for as long as I can, alone in my bed that’s still warm from his body.
Because I know when the anger’s gone, the tears will start.