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I don’t have to flush my money down the toilet anymore.
I’m free.
I am free.
I can build up a savings, plan for a future, splurge now and again without facing the crippling weight of poverty. When I move out of F-man’s fancy mansion after all this nonsense is said and done, I’ll be able to buy myself a proper set of Tupperware and stop using butter containers for my leftovers…
I’m not strong enough to resist a gesture that results in a future where I’ll get to own real Tupperware. There’s something primal about having dishes that fit perfectly inside one another. He’s saved me, perhaps purely so I might enjoy that experience.
My mouth goes dry as I recall the last thing he said to me.
Add decimating JustBorrow to my schedule.
Since when does bright sunshine boy say words like decimating?
Heaven help me. I’m only flesh and bone. What am I supposed to do with the information that he wants to destroy something for me?
Hand trembling, I press my fingertips to my cheek and stare out the window at the winding back roads beyond a parking lot I will never have to see again.
I’ll be bluntly honest… It is quite difficult to hate a man who wants to destroy things in my honor.
“Marcella?” he says.
My stomach flips, and I jolt my attention to him. His shirt. It’s gaping. He took his tie off and unbuttoned his collar. “Mm?” I squeak.
He watches me for too many long moments. Right when I’m terrified he’s seen through me, his usual gentle smile overtakes him. “You look like you’re on the verge of tears. Are you that relieved?”
I look like I’m on the verge of tears? I have no idea what that looks like. I feel quite constipated. All the same, I say, “Yup.”
“Let’s celebrate with lunch. Where would you like to go?”
Lunch? With him? While his shirt is baring his chest for my innocent eyes to drink in?
No, no, no. I don’t think so. There’s no way I want to go anywhere calm and romantic with him while my emotions are this raw.
I need to fully remind myself that a brief snatch of something appealing does not make up for the rest of his character. It does not remedy all the things about him that I find mind-numbingly annoying. He is still an irritation to the nth degree. This simply does not make us compatible.
If only I weren’t thinking about his hug in the kitchen a few days ago…
Surrounded by spices and warmth and emotion…
He smelled so good, and his arms for the first minute were solid enough to hold me together.
I enjoyed the first part of that experience far more than I am ever likely to admit.
Of course, then his overall tenderness ruined it, and he made me feel like there were bugs in my hair.
“Marcella…?” he prompts again, sugary sweet.
My lip curls as I regain myself. Ew. He’s diabetes in a jar. A little well-placed destruction won’t sway me. I am strong, and I am strong enough to resist.
“Food.” My brows furrow. “Celebration food.”
“Yes. Anywhere you’d like.”
I think for a moment, then I say, “Sushi.”
When his nose scrunches, I know I’ve made the right choice.
