I don’t think he sees the same fiery babe I was years ago either. I think he’s just as disgusted by the sight of me too. Ever since our loss, things have gone downhill and we never recovered. It’s hard to comprehend that we’re shadows of the people we used to be, and every so often I feel the tinge of hope that we can mend this. But nights like these when I’m having to baby him into not going out to spend our entire miniscule fortune we’ve managed to save up, I’m reminded of why I’m not racing to tell him we can try again. We’re on completely different paths. He’s on the road of destruction, and I’m on the road of survival.
And while I love him, I know in my heart I’m not in love with him. I’ve been desperate to fix this, but no matter how many times I try and give this relationship work and time, the feelings just don’t return, not when I think of that girl he’s fucked while I was crying at our loss. No, he’s simply hurt me too much. It’s just telling my legs to walk that seems to be the issue.
I’m scared.
“Use your head?” he says, and that hint of anger surfaces in him. He narrows his eyes at me. “Always treating me like an idiot, huh? Like I’m dog shit. Why? Because you’re so much better than me studying and all that? What about the money you’re about to piss away on your College shit?”
“I have to pass the entry exam, and then I’ll be doing bridging courses, Derek, and they’re not at a College yet. I’m trying to get into a school –”
“But you say you’re headed there next year –”
“If I manage good enough grades, then yeah!”
“And how much are you going to spend on that?”
“Ugh!” I stand up and stalk off, but the place is so small there isn’t anywhere I can go that’s far enough from him. I’m especially pissed when he starts to follow. I can feel his presence and that heated anger rolling off of him, and my body is sucking it all in and starting up the furnace to my own anger.
“You wanna go out and get roaring drunk?” I yell at him, turning to face him. “Then go, Derek! Get drunk with your friends! You happy now?”
“No,” he retorts, crossing his arms defiantly. “You made this into a fucking argument. You want me to stay, so I’ll fucking stay.”
What the hell? I give him what he wants and he decides he doesn’t want it anymore?
“You’re unbelievable,” I huff.
“I’m unbelievable? Your purse strings are so fucking tight on me, but the second you want something you have no qualms getting it!”
“When was the last time I got something?” I challenge.
He scoffs, like what I’ve just said is preposterous. “You get yourself shit all the time.”
“Name one thing I got for myself, Derek.”
“You got those expensive looking sandals last week.”
“I had no choice. My sandals were three years old and broke –”
“You could have got them from Walmart. Instead, you got them from ALDO –”
“Ana used her store card on me! I got them fifty percent off, Derek.”
“Right, sure you did. How convenient.”
Oh, my God.
I’m ready to punch a hole in the wall on my way to the shower. It’s the only place I can actually have some space when we fight. The only time he actually allows me some privacy is when I’m locked inside the bathroom, shut inside the shower stall under the hot spray, contemplating ways to kill him.
On my way there my phone chimes indicating a Facebook message. My heart seizes in my chest when Derek picks up my phone from the table and swipes the screen. Is it Aidan messaging me? He hasn’t since that lunch break on Monday. But everyone else only texts me. So… it could be him.
Logic tells me it must.
Fuck, how do I explain that to Derek? Yet another fuse on the verge of blowing, and I’m tense and on the verge of throwing up if he discovers it.
"Leave my phone alone, Derek," I tell him icily. "That's mine."
But he ignores me and presses a few buttons. His brows come together in confusion before setting my phone back down.
“I’m going out,” he then growls out, grabbing at his keys.
“Where are you going?” I ask tensely.
He shoots me a glare. “I’m not up to no good, Ivy! I’m just going out and I don’t need to tell you every fucking destination I go to. It’s not illegal going out to do something for myself, is it? Fuck’s sake.”
I force my mouth shut. Don’t react. I tell myself. The old me from before I left would have screamed insults at him, saying horrid things about what a dick he is and how he's just going to blow our money on more drinks. Then he’d get even shittier and face off with me, breaking something of mine or his out of anger. So, I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet when he takes off and slams the door shut behind him.
Once he’s gone and I feel like I can breathe again, I hurry to my phone and press my Facebook app. Derek isn’t technologically savvy enough to know the message will have come from there, and my heart pinches when I read it.
A.W.: I can’t believe you turned me down. I’ve never been turned down before.
I message him back straight away.
Ivy: I’m not sure whether that was just a wounding of your ego or if you’re genuinely upset by that.
When he doesn’t respond right away, I feel a little dumb. I must look desperate messaging him so quickly. Maybe I ought to wait ten minutes next time.
Feeling tense, I head into the shower and strip. My clothes are gross and sweaty, and I don’t smell any better naked. But despite the horrid heat, I can’t
