Just a Number(121)

“You’re humiliated?” I demand, my own anger and jealousy hitting an all-time high. “What exactly were you doing in there?”

Her mouth hangs open mid-sentence, and her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “What was I doing? I was fucking dancing.”

“Is that what you call that? You might as well have been fucking him right there in the middle of the club.”

Amelia’s mouth snaps shut and she starts shaking her head as she takes a few unsteady steps back. “How can you even say that to me? Are you really that insecure in our relationship that you would think I would screw around on you?”

“His hands were all over you!”

She’s quiet for a second, possibly trying to gauge something. “Did you even look at him before you attacked?” she inquires, her tone leveling out as she crosses her arms. I stand there, unsure why this even matters given the way his body was pressed against hers. “The man you punched was Justin. My friend from high school.”

I fail to see where this is going or what point she’s trying to make.

“He’s gay. So congratu-fucking-lations. You punched a guy who was absolutely no threat to you.” With that, she turns on her heel and starts to walk away from me.

I have no idea where she’s heading, but I follow her. Her words swirl around in my head as I try to reconcile it all. I’ve taken a few steps before I remember hearing her talking about Justin and how he came out to his parents in junior year.

I’m such an asshole.

“Amelia, please wait,” I plead, my jealousy disappearing completely and my guilt settling like lead in my stomach, displacing but not eliminating the waves of anger that still flow through me. She continues to walk away, ignoring me as I catch up. The rain picks up until it’s pouring, but Amelia crosses her arms in front of her and trudges along. I grab her arm and turn her to me. She’s still angry, but I can’t risk her getting sick. “Let me give you a ride home, at least. Maybe we can talk a little more and I can explain myself.”

“No, thanks,” she says, teeth chattering. “I’ll find a cab.”

Releasing a frustrated groan, I roll my eyes and push my hands through my soaking wet hair. “Don’t be like this.”

She seems to weigh her options as the rain continues to soak us both through, finally acquiescing. We aren’t far from my car, thanks to her walking in its direction inadvertently. The walk is quiet, and I can’t blame her for not wanting to talk to me. I had acted without thinking, letting my past dictate how I react to situations I might not fully understand. Gretchen’s indiscretions caused this lack of trust that festered beneath the surface, waiting for any given opportunity to burst forth. Even without cause, it would seem.

I open the passenger side door for her when we reach the lot, and she climbs in. When I slide behind the wheel and start the car, I notice Amelia shivering uncontrollably. Turning around, I reach into the backseat and grab a sweater I’d thrown there. “Here,” I tell her. “Put this on. I’ll turn up the heat.”

Amelia seems hesitant, but takes it and pulls it over her head, letting her common sense guide her over her obvious displeasure with me. After buckling her seatbelt, she crosses her arms across her chest and looks out the window. I don’t foresee us having a conversation in the car, and maybe that’s best; perhaps we should wait until morning. Perhaps we should sit with everything that happened tonight and talk about it with a fresh outlook.

When I roll the car to a stop just outside her apartment building, I throw it into park and turn to her. She’s resting her head against the back of the seat, still staring out the window. “Can I come up so we can talk about what happened?”

No answer.

Sighing, I rub my hands over my face. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me, and you have every reason to be, but please don’t ignore me. I’m sorry.”

Her chest rises with a deep intake of breath, and her head lolls to the left until she’s facing me. That’s when I realize she’s not ignoring me; she’s sleeping.

I turn the car off and step out into the rain, heading over to her side and picking her up so I can carry her inside. She melts against my body, arms draped lightly around my neck as her head rests on my shoulder, and I walk us up the stairs and down the hall to her apartment.

I make my way to her bed, but find it covered with a mountain of clothes that she must have tried on and abandoned when deciding what to wear tonight. The couch is clear, though, so I lay her down, grab the blanket from the end of her bed and cover her with it after removing her boots and setting them on the floor next to her. Then I lift her feet and sit on the couch beneath them and wait.