to blow up like this.”
“I don't care about that,” Liam says. “You had no right to do what you did.”
His voice is calm and collected.
I wish that he would get mad and yell at me, but he doesn't.
Somehow, it's scarier this way.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“I want that article to not exist.”
“Well, I can't do that. It's done.”
He turns around on his heels and walks out of the kitchen. I wait for him to come back, but he doesn't.
A few moments later, I follow him. I'm still drunk and dehydrated.
I don't think that I'm making sense and I'm not really saying the right things.
I know that I should apologize, but for some reason I can't.
“You know what,” Liam says, pointing his finger in my face, “I thought you were different. I thought that you weren’t like the rest of them.”
“The rest of who?”
“The rest of humanity. I thought that you weren’t a liar. I thought I could trust you.”
This takes me back.
I realize that I have hurt him, perhaps even more profoundly than I thought, up until that point.
“I wasn't going to write the article,” I say. “I drove back and I was really just going to forget that we ever had that conversation. Especially after that awful offer you made me.”
He tilts his head a little bit to the side but doesn't erase the smirk off his face. He waits for me to continue.
“You agree that your offer was ridiculous, right?”
“If you had taken me up on it, then you would've had your article.”
“That's what I don't understand. Why not just give it to me?”
He takes a few steps forward.
We are so close that I can feel his breath on my face. It has a slight minty fresh scent and it makes my knees weak.
“I didn't give it to you because you have to learn that you can't just get everything you want.”
I furrow my brows.
Anger rises out of me and I raise my hand.
Before I can slap him, he catches my wrist and pulls it aside.
I have no idea what came over me. I've never hit another person before, but for some reason this man knows exactly what to say to get a rise out of me.
“You think that's the kind of person that I am,” I say, pulling my wrist away from him. “You think I always get what I want?”
“I've seen where you grew up. I've seen your parents’ palatial estate.”
“Do you also see this? Do you see the studio apartment where I live? Do you smell the urine that permeates from the parking lot outside that the local homeless people always use as their toilet? I don't take any money from my parents and I thought that was clear. Not that I need to explain myself to you.”
“You don't,” he says calmly.
“Yes, you're right. I don't. So why don't you just leave?”
The expression on his face changes as he stares at me without blinking.
“You had no right to publish the article without my permission. I told you that what I said was off the record.”
“I don't need your permission to publish my experience of what happened.” I try to defend myself even though I know that isn’t right.
“Yeah, be that as it may, but I read what you wrote. It had quotes about what I said about writing, my process, and my publishing. You wrote about the money that I made and about everything that I said.”
“How secret could you have wanted it to be?” I ask. “I mean, we just met and you came out and started telling me all of these things about your life.”
Finally, I hit upon something.
A nerve.
His eyes narrow and the blank expression disappears.
“I told you those things because I thought that you were my friend,” he says, his voice is rushed and out-of-control. “I liked you and I haven't liked anyone in a long time.”
“I don't care about that,” I say, lying through my teeth.
I try to shut myself up, but the words just keep coming out without my permission.
“You wanted to sleep with me, so what? That's what women want. We shared a kiss, maybe more than that, but you had to make it weird.”
“Is that all that happened?” Liam asks after a long pause.
The disappointment on his face is the only thing I see.
“Look, I already told you that I didn't mean to write the article. I had every intention of canceling the story, except that I couldn't. I had to write it