“You heard me, get out. I will not be that girl who sits at home all night waiting on her boyfriend to come home. I expected you to at least come up with a good excuse—but you haven’t even tried! I’m not going to give in this time, Hardin. I always forgive you way too easily. Not this time. So either explain yourself or get the hell out.” I cross my arms, proud of myself for not giving in to him.
“In case you forgot, I am the one paying the bills here, so if anyone is going to leave, it will be you,” he says with a blank stare.
I glance down at his hands on his knees; his knuckles are yet again busted and covered in dried blood.
My mind is still trying to come up with a response when I ask, “Did you get in a fight again?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Hardin! It does matter. Is that what you were doing all night? Fighting people? You didn’t even have to work, did you? Or is that your job, beating up people?”
“What? No, that’s not my job. You know what my job is. I did work, then I got distracted,” he says and swipes his hand over his face.
“By?”
“Nothing. Jesus,” he groans. “You are always on my case.”
“I’m always on your case? What did you expect to happen when you stumbled in here after being gone all night and day! I need answers, Hardin—I am sick of you not giving me them.” He ignores me and pulls a shirt over his head. “I was worried all day; you could have at least called me. I was a mess today while you were out drinking and doing God knows what. You are messing with my internship, and that is not okay.”
“Your internship? You mean the one that my father got you?” he says with his foul mouth.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Just saying.” He shrugs.
How is this the same person who just two nights go was whispering how much he loves me into my ear while he thought I was asleep?
“I’m not even going to respond to that, because I know that’s what you want. You want a fight and I won’t give you one.” I grab one of my T-shirts and stalk out of the room. Before I exit, I turn back to him. “But let me make this clear: if you don’t get your shit together—like now—I’m gone.”
I head to the couch and lie down, grateful for another space to be where he isn’t. I allow a few tears to fall before wiping my face and picking up Hardin’s old copy of Wuthering Heights. No matter how bad I want to go back in there and make him explain everything to me—where he was, who he was with, why he got into a fight, and with whom—I force myself to stay on the couch because that will bother him much more.
Though probably not half as much as the level of control he has over parts of my life is bothering me.
chapter ninety
I put down my book and check the time on my phone. It’s a little after midnight, so I should try to force myself to go to sleep. He already tried to get me to come to bed earlier, saying he couldn’t sleep without me, but I stuck to my guns and ignored him until he left.
I’m just about to drift into sleep when I hear Hardin scream, “No!!” I jump off the couch without thinking and rush to our bedroom. He is thrashing in the thick blanket and covered in sweat.
“Hardin, wake up,” I say gently and shake his shoulder, moving a soaked curl from his forehead with my other hand.
His eyes snap open—they are full of terror.
“It’s okay . . . shh . . . it was just a nightmare.” I do my best to soothe him. My fingers play in his hair and then brush over his cheek. He is shaking as I climb into bed behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I feel him relax as I press my face against his clammy skin.
“Please. Stay with me,” he begs. I sigh and stay quiet, tightening my grip around him. “Thank you,” he whispers, and within minutes he is asleep again.
THE WATER DOESN’T SEEM to get hot enough to relax my tense muscles no matter how high I turn it up. I am exhausted from the lack of sleep last night and the