By the time we’re seated in the hushed quiet of the theater showing our movie, the giant popcorn bucket wedged between us, I’m feeling anxious. Why, I don’t know.
“Are you regretting our movie choice?” Rhett asks, his voice low.
I turn to look at him, startled to find his face so close to mine. “What do you mean?”
“You’re squirming in your seat and the movie hasn’t even started yet,” he says, his voice teasing.
“Oh, I guess I’m not the biggest fan of scary movies,” I confess.
His brows draw together in seeming confusion. I love when he does that. “But you’re the one who wanted to see a scary movie.”
“I guess I liked the idea of you holding me close during the bad parts,” I murmur.
His smile is knowing as he slips his arms around the back of my chair, his hand dropping to my shoulder. “I’m here for you. You want to jump in my lap, bury your face in my neck? I’m your man.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “How kind of you to offer up your services.”
“If a beautiful woman wants to throw herself at me in the middle of a movie, I’m not going to protest.”
My entire body goes hot at him calling me a beautiful woman. It’s dangerous, how easily I could get used to his compliments.
I part my lips, ready to continue our conversation, when the lights go dim and the screen flashes with theater-themed messages about turning the ringer off your cell phones and how we shouldn’t talk too loud. Rhett removes his arm from the back of my seat as I settle into my oversized reclining chair and reach for some popcorn at the same time he does too.
It’s downright intimate, our sharing the popcorn, sitting in the dark, our gazes glued to the big screen. I forget about everyone else sitting by us. All I can focus on is the man sitting next to me, his kne
e occasionally brushing against mine as he shifts around in his seat, like he can’t get comfortable.
Once the movie finally starts, I realize quick the subject matter is a little too close to home. It’s about a woman who’s seeking vengeance on the man who killed her husband—and this man was her husband’s business partner. I mean, my situation is totally different, but then again…it’s not. Vengeance is vengeance, and as the story unfolds, I become more and more uncomfortable. She not only wants to destroy the business partner who was acquitted of murdering her husband for lack of evidence, but his entire family as well. His friends, his business…everything and everyone that means something to him, she wants to eliminate.
And I can relate. I really can. She’s laughing and crying and trying to kill the man’s wife, setting his home on fire, chasing after his precious dog so she can brutally kill him, for the love of God, and I’m still rooting for her.
I shouldn’t be rooting for her. Not at all. But I understand her anger and how it drives her to do such horrible things. Things I don’t think I’m capable of.
Maybe I am, though. Maybe we all are, if we’re pushed hard enough.
I think of my mother. Does she ever think of me? Remember me? Would she recognize me if I met her on the street?
She better not, because that’s why I’m here.
Just like that, I’m mad. Anger is all I’ve had left for so long, and I reveled in it. My anger fueled me, and I needed it like air.
Rhett suddenly takes my hand and laces our fingers together loosely. Lost in my own thoughts, the sweet gesture startles me, and I glance over at him to find he’s already watching me, his lips curled in the faintest smile.
“This movie is crazy,” he whispers, his eye wide in the darkness. “She’s crazy.”
My heart falls. If he thinks she’s crazy…
What will he think of me?
Rhett takes me home in his fancy sports car, zipping down the streets, passing the late-evening traffic with ease. The satellite radio is on low and I remain quiet, my head filled with thoughts of the movie, of what I’m doing, of what I’m going to do. He makes light conversation and I respond to him as casually as possible, hoping he doesn’t catch the tremor in my voice that’s been brought on by nerves.
Watching that movie threw me. Spending time with Rhett and actually liking him threw me even harder.
We make it to my house in what feels like record time, and he walks me to the front door like the gentleman that he is. “I had fun tonight,” I tell him, pulling my keys out of my purse as we approach the door.
“I did too,” he agrees, shifting closer to me. So close I can feel his breath on my cheek. I turn to find him invading my personal space, not that I’m protesting. I tilt my head back so I can meet his gaze and he smiles at me. It’s an intimate smile, not the shark teeth he flashes at the pretty girls in the bar. This one is just for me, and witnessing it makes everything inside me go liquid. “Even though that movie was a trip.”
My stomach sinks and slowly starts to churn. “You didn’t like it?”