does it look like I’m doing?”
Tossing her shirt on the floor, I step forward and look down at her. “What the hell are you doing packing up your shit?”
Her eyes move around frantically, before landing on a spot just past my right shoulder. “If you would quit throwing my shit around, I’d tell you.”
“I’m not sure who you think you’re talking to, but your mouth is fixing to get you bent over my knee,” I say, fisting my hands at my sides to keep from grabbing her. “Now, tell me what the fuck you were doing.”
Again, she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m packing up some of my stuff. I’m never here anymore, so there’s no reason for it all to be here.”
All of a sudden, thoughts of her bags in the corner of my bedroom fill my mind. I realize how much of an ass I’ve been. “I’ll have a few prospects head to the house and pack up Lauren’s clothes. That way, you’ll have space for your stuff.”
Her eyes cut to mine, shock written all over her face. Again, I see the mistakes I’ve been making as clear as day. I tell her, “I don’t want to get rid of her stuff. Smoke may want it. Hell, if Cherry’s ass ever cleans up, she may want it. But, we can store it in the attic for now.”
“No, don’t do that,” she says, shaking her head frantically.
Something about her words and the near hysteric tone of her voice has me on edge. “Why the fuck not?”
“You just shouldn’t do that,” she replies, picking up her shirt from the floor. “It wouldn’t be right. That stuff has been there this long, there’s no need to rush and do anything with it right now.”
“Why not?” I ask again, angry that her eyes have yet to meet mine. “You need the space, and it’s not gonna hurt to put her stuff in that attic.”
Lisa doesn’t answer, just goes back to filling her suitcase. I watch until she zips it closed and sets it on the floor. She then walks around me and goes straight for the closet. From there, she pulls out her purple duffle bag and heads to the bathroom. I remain silent, just watching her, as she starts putting all her girly shit in the bag.
It’s all the same shit that, until yesterday, cluttered my bathroom at home. There’s no damn reason for her to be packing it, unless she isn’t planning on coming back here anytime soon. My frustration finally reaches the boiling point, so I walk over to her and pull the duffle bag from her hand. Tossing it across the room, the sound of breaking glass reaches my ears, but I’m too fucking angry to care.
“Damn it, Round!” she shouts, trying to look around me to see the mess I made. “Why the hell did you do that? You probably broke all my stuff.”
“I want the truth,” I demand, grabbing her and pulling her flush to my chest. “Why are you packing everything?”
“I need a little space,” she replies in a high-pitched voice, sounding almost shocked the words are coming out of her mouth.
“Space,” I roar, feeling my stomach drop at the thought. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Her eyes blink, seeming nearly dazed for a moment. “I just need a break from the club and all the craziness around here. This place is making me crazy.”
“That doesn’t explain you packing all your shit,” I argue with a shake of my head. “You need a fucking break, you take what you need and leave the rest of your shit here.”
She looks up at me, her chocolate eyes filled with tears. “Please, Round. I just want to take my stuff home.”
The hurt in her voice is killing me. What’s even worse is I have no idea how in the hell to fix it. She’s been made to feel like a stranger in our home and a whore in my bed. How can I make up for that? How can I make her happy again? I’m not sure it’s even possible, not after everything I’ve done to her.
“To our home, right?” I ask, hoping like hell she says yes.
Instead, she just buries her head against my chest and starts to cry. That alone is enough for me to know the answer is no. I want to shout, tell her that the only home she will ever have is at my side. That wouldn’t help. We’ve done enough yelling and