Page 120 of When He Was Mine

“You should take your ring off.”

“Stop worrying about me,” he growled.

I contorted my face. It stung and my heart hurt that he wouldn’t let me show him the same type of care that he always showed me when I didn’t feel well. I walked ahead of him and slipped through the sliding glass door, hurrying upstairs to my old bedroom. He couldn’t pursue me since Mark was splinting his finger. I shut the door and looked around.

It had been a while since I stepped into this room, but my mother's meticulousness kept it unchanged. Everything was exactly as I remembered from the summer before my senior year. My queen-sized bed was neatly made, adorned with a powder blue comforter. Matching curtains adorned the windows, offering a glimpse into the backyard. Above my small desk hung a full collage of pictures, each one a cherished memory.

I went to the closet and retrieved a shoebox-sized plastic container. Inside lay stacks of pictures and mementos from my childhood. Seating myself on the royal blue carpet, I delved into the box, lost in memories.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Oliver stood there. Ignoring his presence, I continued sorting through the box. He entered the room and closed the door, sitting down beside me. When he reached out, I recoiled.

“Don’t touch me,” I said sharply, my voice tinged with frustration.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver murmured, his expression contrite.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Why can’t I care for you? Why can’t I worry about you?” I demanded, my anger bubbling to the surface.

“That’s not your job. It’s mine to worry about you,” he replied softly, his eyes searching mine.

“Why? Because you’re so bulletproof that nothing can hurt you?” I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness.

“No. I don’t need you to upset yourself,” Oliver said gently, reaching out again.

“Tough. If you don’t like it, then don’t be with me. I can’t change the way I do things. I worry about you just like I do anyone I love,” I snapped, my voice cracking with emotion.

I picked up a pile of pictures, attempting to distract myself. Oliver tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and I felt a flicker of annoyance. His chuckle grated on my nerves as I stumbled upon a Halloween picture from fourth grade, dressed in a pumpkin costume with a green hat and face paint.

“Look how adorable you are,” Oliver remarked, his voice filled with fondness.

“I looked ridiculous,” I replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the sight of my childhood costume.

“I want to have a little girl just like you were,” Oliver confessed, his eyes softening with emotion.

His words caught me off guard. We had discussed children before, but this was the first time he had expressed such a specific desire.

“You want a little girl?” I asked, feeling a flutter of excitement mingled with apprehension.

“One just like her mama,” he affirmed, his gaze unwavering.

“Suppose I have boys?” I queried, curiosity tingeing my voice.

“I’ll love them just as much,” he replied without hesitation, his sincerity evident. He sat down next to me.

Leaning over, he gently licked around the rim of my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“Don’t be upset with me,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

I reached out, gently taking the hand with the dislocated finger and kissed his palm. My heart twinged as I noticed he had removed his ring, placing it on his other hand.

“You took off your ring,” I observed, a pang of sadness creeping into my voice.

“Mark advised me to. He said I might have some swelling. This ring is precious to me because of who it’s from,” Oliver explained, his tone tender.

Resting my head on his shoulder, I felt his arm slip around me, drawing me closer. Despite our recent disagreement, I couldn’t help but crave his warmth and comfort.

“You hurt me,” I murmured, unable to suppress the hurt in my voice.

“I know. I feel like all I do lately is apologize to you,” Oliver admitted, his voice tinged with remorse.

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