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“Well, that’s just tough shit, isn’t it?” I cross my hands over my chest to hide their shaking.
Drew takes a step in my direction, his color returning with a vengeance. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I. Don’t. Want. You. Here.”
It takes all I’ve got not to cry, to lift my chin up to meet his eyes. “I. Don’t. Care.”
For a moment, he just looks at me, his color blooming over his cheeks. Then he grabs the hairs on the back of his head like he’s going to rip them out. His biceps bulge, and his teeth flash in a grimace.
“Why are you just standing there? Go.” He waves a hand as if I’m a fly, and he needs to swat me away.
“Why won’t you fucking leave!” He’s shouting so loud now my ears ring. Veins pop out along his neck. His face is so red with rage that it’s contorted.
I should be frightened of him. He’s looming over me, six feet four inches and two hundred and thirty pounds of raging man. One blow could break my face. But I’m not frightened because everything about his quivering body speaks of restraint. He’s coming apart at the seams, but he will never, ever physically lash out at me.
It doesn’t stop my own rage, though. It’s a lit fire in a dry forest. “You want to get away from me so bad, you fucking leave.”
“It’s my fucking place!” he bellows. And his arm punches the air for emphasis. “You stubborn ass—”
Even now he can’t call me a name. A strangled shout breaks free. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“No!” I get in his face. Maybe I want him to hit me. I sure as hell want to hit him, hit something. “And there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”
“Oh, yes I can.” In full beast mode, he stomps into our bedroom. Before I can follow, he’s out again, carrying an armful of my clothes.
Shock has me rooted to the floor. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to punch him when he wrenches open the door and tosses my things out.
“You motherfucker,” I shout.
Not to be outdone, I go to the room and get a handful of his things. His own shock, when he sees me, is nearly comical, were it not for the fact that he’s breaking my heart.
“You’re being the asshole,” I retort, tossing his things onto the lawn. “So you get out.”
Maturity has officially left the building. Along with our clothes.
Nostrils flaring, he moves to go into our room again. I know he’s after more clothes. I dodge in front of him, blocking the way. Drew skids to a stop, teetering before he snarls.
“No,” I snap. “You don’t get to manhandle any more of my stuff.”
He’s so angry now, he vibrates. “Get. Out!”
“No!” We are nose to nose now. “I’m not fucking leaving. Do you hear?” My throat hurts from the force of my words. “I’m never leaving you, Drew. No matter what you say. I’m. Never. Fucking. Leaving!”
It’s the truth. I won’t leave him. But I don’t have to look at him. Not when hateful tears are pricking behind my lids. Not when my lip is quivering. Angry crying is a curse. I turn from him, but it’s too late. He’s seen it.
I march away. I was wrong. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough; I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
“Anna!”
I ignore him. The door to our room, when I slam it, rattles the windows. I lock it for good measure, just in time, because he’s on the other side.
“Anna, damn it!” He smashes his fists into the wood with enough force that something cracks. But the door holds.
“Get bent,” I shout in a voice way too high-pitched.
With a snarl, he pounds once more, and adds a “Fuck!” for emphasis. Then he’s gone.
I’m pretty sure if his leg weren’t broken the fucking bastard would have kicked down the door and physically tossed me out by now. Like he did my clothes. God, that hurt. It still does.
Our dresser drawers are tilting haphazardly, half torn from their housing. T-shirts, and one of my bras, hang from them like streamers. I focus on that lone bra. A ridiculously expensive La Perla sky blue bra that Iris gave me on my twenty-first birthday. The bra Drew slipped his fingers under the night he’d asked me to move in with him.
