“Sounds like you’re accusing me of something,” I tell her.
“Maybe I am. No one has a right to look that happy.” She waves a hand at me, like I’m an annoying fly she wants to shoo away.
I’m immediately offended. And I almost think she’s serious. “Maybe you make me that happy.”
Why is that so hard to believe for her? I don’t get it.
Most of the time, I don’t get her.
With a sigh she flicks off the light in the bathroom and approaches the bed, standing at the foot of the mattress, suddenly appearing unsure. “We were fighting only a few minutes ago.”
“So?” I shrug. “Having sex tends to make me forget all about fighting.”
She says nothing in response. Just watches me with both hands on her hips now, totally confident in her nakedness.
“You want me to be honest?” I ask.
She says nothing. Probably because she’s not big on being honest.
Ouch. I roasted her in my own head.
When she still hasn’t said anything, I continue. “I don’t even know what we were fighting about,” I say with a sigh, though I’m a liar.
I remember everything.
“I don’t like it when you lie,” she murmurs, slowly shaking her head. Like I’ve disappointed her or some shit.
I sit up straight, glaring at her. “I don’t like it when you lie either.”
Her mouth drops open, the hurt on her face obvious. I automatically feel like an asshole, even though I shouldn’t. I have every right to call her out on her lies. After all, she’s lied to me before. Plenty of times. What’s going to stop her now?
Deep down, I know what this is really about. Why I’m saying these things, why I’m feeling this way. I can’t stand the thought of my uncle being the one who attacked her. I’d almost rather think she was lying to me.
How fucked up is that?
“Are you calling me a liar over the whole Greg thing?”
“No.” Maybe. She knows me better than I realize.
Jensen lifts her chin, defiant. “Please. You so are.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Don’t give me that judgey tone.”
“Judgey?” I sound incredulous because I sort of am.
But maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m being totally judgmental right now.
“You’re so high and mighty. Mister Rich Boy, with all your money and social status and fancy cars and clothes and houses. You don’t appreciate shit. Instead, you’re the spoiled little wealthy son who’s rebelling against his father by going out with the slutty topless cocktail waitress from the wrong side of the tracks. So you can stir the pot and drive your family crazy with your ‘rebellious’ choices.” She adds air quotes around the word rebellious.
Now it’s my turn to stare at her with my mouth hanging open. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Let’s be real here, Rhett. I’m a passing phase. The naughty girl you can bring home and show off to say, ‘See? I don’t follow the rules all the time.’ Because that’s who you really are. A rule follower. You’re a good boy.”
She says that like it’s a bad thing.
“Once you dump me—and you will, don’t deny it—you’ll find some nice, respectable girl to bring home to Daddy. You’ll get Mommy’s engagement ring and propose, and you’ll have a grand wedding followed by a month-long European honeymoon. You’ll put a couple of kids in her belly real quick like and you’ll have a perfectly lovely, if perfectly boring life. Traveling for work and always out of town, so you’ll sleep around on the side with more slutty cocktail waitresses because you find yourself drawn to those types. All while wifey-poo sits at home and minds your babies and wonders if she Botoxed all her worry wrinkles away enough so you don’t notice them anymore. Hoping the tummy tuck and the boob lift she got after the babies fucked up her body will make you want her again.”