“Is that was this is about? His age?” I laugh dryly, feeling just a little bit crazy and unsure how else I should react. “He’s gay!” I shout, thrusting my fingers into my hair and gripping it tightly. “There was absolutely no threat there!”
Owen’s breathing picks up and he advances on me. “How was I to know that?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I retort, throwing my hands up and letting them fall heavily to my sides. “Maybe you could’ve asked. Or, I don’t know, trusted me.”
“Trust needs to be earned, Amy,” he says, his voice so even it’s almost terrifying. His words cut deep, but it’s the look in his eyes that lend a twist to the blade that will keep the wound from closing.
I stand there for a moment, completely stunned into silence, until finally I say, “And I haven’t earned yours?” He says nothing, and I straighten my posture and keep the tears that burn behind my eyes at bay. “Get. Out.” My hands shake as anger and hurt fight for dominance. How could he not trust me?
Owen must recognize my rising distress, because his mood shifts drastically. It’s as though he’s another person in a millisecond, going from distrustful to apologetic. But I’m not ready to accept his still-unspoken apology.
“I mean it, Owen.” My voice quivers, and the first tear slips down my cheek. “Leave. Now.”
His mouth opens, but then he closes it just as quickly as he swipes his jacket off the back of the couch and heads for the door. He grabs the knob and pauses, looking back over his shoulder and exhaling a heavy, defeated breath. Without a word, he leaves my apartment, and I collapse onto my knees and bury my face in my hands as I cry.
This isn’t our first disagreement, but it’s absolutely our first fight.
After letting myself sob for a few minutes, I decide to quit dwelling on my own issues and check in with Justin. I find my boots on the floor in front of the couch and grab my phone from the pocket inside. When I turn it on, I see several missed calls from Owen, and my gut rolls. He was telling the truth when he told me he tried calling.
I shake my head to rid myself of the guilt I suddenly feel. Just because he’d tried to get a hold of me doesn’t change the outcome. He lost his mind in a fit of jealous rage and punched one of my best friends without even trying to find out what was going on.
I swipe open the lock screen, trying not to tear up again when I see the picture of Owen and me as my wallpaper. I have no missed calls or texts from Liz or Justin, and naturally I worry about this. I wouldn’t blame either one of them if they wanted to cut ties with me after what happened.
Taking a deep breath, I dial Justin’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“Hey,” he says, sounding pretty cheerful for a guy who got punched by my boyfriend the night before. “You make it home okay last night?”
I sniffle and wipe my nose on the back of my hand like a total animal. “I’m surprised you even care.”
“Amy,” he says, his tone chastising. “Of course I care.”
“Why? After what Owen did…”
Justin laughs, confusing me further. Is he still drunk? High on pain killers because Owen hit him hard enough to warrant it? “Can you blame him? I can only imagine what he saw and subsequently thought.”
“Why is this funny, Justin? He acted completely irrationally.”
“Maybe so,” he replies, his laughter dying down. “But he also acted like any man in love with a girl would. He saw a good-looking man dancing with his girl, and he lost his mind. Jealousy is an ugly little monster, but it’s also kind of hot.”
“There was nothing hot about what Owen did last night.”
There’s silence on Justin’s end. “Really? So, his jealous and slightly possessive behavior didn’t turn you on just a little?”
“I…I…” I stammer. “I guess I didn’t really think about it. I was taken by surprise… Jesus, he hit you. Of course it wasn’t hot!”
“Take me out of the equation, Amy,” Justin instructs. “Say it was some random guy—”
“I would never dance like that with some random guy,” I interject.
Justin sighs, annoyed. “Can you just, I don’t know, pretend? For the sake of salvaging your relationship?”
I nod, even though Justin can’t see me. “Okay, fine.” I imagine dancing with someone other than Justin—someone other than a close friend. It’s disturbing and feels wrong, but I do it so I can try to imagine how I would feel about Owen going ballistic on someone other than Justin.
Unfortunately, I can’t. Owen was unrecognizable to me last night. He was violent and short-tempered, and it frightened me. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before.