Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(105)

"I'm saying you are exceptionally gifted at loving people, even when they're undeserving of it."

. . . What?

WHAT?

Okay, that?

That made me mad.

"Wow." I backed away from him, feeling like I'd been slapped, like my lungs were suddenly on fire. Looking everywhere but at Matt, I tried to find the lid to my temper. It had suddenly blown off. "Okay. Wow. Wow."

"It's not an insult."

"The fuck it's not." Placing my hands on my hips, I angled my chin and met his eyes. "But you're not insulting me. You're insulting yourself. And if you wanted to make me angry, that was the fastest way to do it."

He glared at me, his head turned slightly to one side like he was bracing for a blow. "You're too generous." His voice was deep, quiet, just above a whisper.

"No. I'm not. You have self-worth issues." I punctuated the word you by pointing my finger at his heart.

He swallowed, wincing, but said nothing, and I knew I was right. I was so right. I was the rightest I'd ever been about anything.

And my rightness made me feel like screaming. It made me want to grab him and shake him until he understood how remarkable he was. How kind, good, clever, thoughtful, intelligent, sexy, wonderful-just everything.

"You. Jerk." I shook my head, pissed off beyond reason. "You think you're not amazing, but you are. And, sure, I could stand here and make a list of all the reasons I love you, of all the ways you are special and awesome, so hilarious and witty, and brilliant, and-" I cut myself off, shaking my head faster. "Nope. I'm not going to do that. Because if you don't believe these things about yourself, nothing I say is going to change your mind. I'm not going to force you to drink the water, Matt. Even though you should DRINK THE DAMN WATER!"

He swallowed with effort, like something was stuck in his throat. A long moment passed, my shouted words seeming to echo in the apartment, between us. The silence wasn't deafening, it was remarkably quiet and still.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. "I know I'm smart," he said, like it was a concession, like he was willing to admit one positive thing about himself, but no more.

My chin wobbled and I had to hold my breath for several seconds to keep myself from crying.

Staring at him-staring at his exceptional and expressive eyes, so stubbornly skeptical about his own value-I realized that loving someone who doesn't love himself was like being stabbed, and having no way to stem the flow of blood. I was helpless in the face of his own indifference.

Only he had the power, and my powerlessness increased my frustration.

Stupid, fucking dehydrated horse!

He took a step toward me. "Marie-"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" I asked.

"No. Of course not. I don't think you're stupid." He reached for me and I let him slide his hands around my waist.

"Do you think I have poor judgment?"

He hesitated.

I opened my mouth, prepared to yell at him again.



       
         
       
        

"You were going to let a stranger dry hump you."

I heaved an aggravated laugh. "A man I'd carefully vetted, with multiple sources, and had spoken to over the phone several times, and who'd been vouched for by more than one personal friend. Do you know there are dry humpers in Chicago? There are lots. I didn't feel willing to meet any of them. This guy was the only guy. The only guy."

Matt furrowed his brow. "I didn't have all that information."

"So you don't trust my judgment?"

"I do. I do trust your judgment."

"Do you think I'm a liar?"

"No. I don't," he answered right away.

"So when I tell you that you are amazing, that you are exceptional, do you believe me?"

He hesitated, and I saw a fierce debate war within him.

"Fine. Here's the thing, you need therapy."

He lifted his chin, the sudden flash in his eyes told me he was about to argue.

I rushed to add, "You need to love yourself. Because, if you can't love yourself, then I can't count on your love for me."

"Wait a minute, no." His tone was hard, edged with resentment, as though he resented that I was questioning his love for me. "You cannot possibly believe that I don't love you. I'm-"

"You said yourself that people need to be needed. And pride, the fear of rejection, makes the love offered meaningful. If you don't love yourself, if you don't see your own worth, then what are you risking by loving me?"

Matt snapped his mouth shut.

"My love-" I paused and took a deep breath to calm down, because I realized I was still yelling. Forcing composure into my voice, I started again. "My love is worth a lot. A. Lot. Because I know I'm awesome."