Trouble(3)
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey babe, how much longer are you going to be?”
He’s in a good mood. Thank god.
“Not too much longer. I just have the attic to finish, and then I’m heading home. That just leaves Oliver’s office to do tomorrow.”
“Shall I come over tonight?”
No.
“Of course.” I force bright and bubbly into my voice.
“I’ve missed you these last few days,” he says quietly down the phone.
“I’ve missed you too.” Not once.
“We’ll make up for it tonight.”
Oh god.
“Can’t wait.”
“Great, I’ll come over at eight.”
“I’ll make us dinner.”
“I love you, Mia.”
“I know. I love you too.” I hate you.
Oh a sigh, I hang up the phone, shove it back in my pocket and head back upstairs to make a start on the attic.
***
“Hey.” Forbes envelops me in a hug of expensive cologne and rich cotton.
Forbes is very handsome. Blond hair, six foot, built like a linebacker. He’s the all American boy, and physically, we suit each other. I’m blonde and slim, though Forbes often tells me I’m overweight. And I’m short. Five three to be exact. It puts me a severe disadvantage when things get rough with Forbes. Not that I ever fight back. Fighting back only makes things worse. I learned that lesson a long time ago.
He leans down and kisses me firmly on the lips. I taste the alcohol on his breath instantly. He’s been drinking.
My stomach sinks.
I used to love Forbes kisses in the beginning. Especially the alcohol free ones. I remember how I couldn’t wait to have the feel of his lips on mine. Now, it’s the last thing I want.
Don’t get me wrong; Forbes doesn’t need alcohol to set him off. He just ignites quicker when he’s been on it.
Forbes follows me into the kitchen, keeping hold of my hand, which is unlike him. He’s not usually tactile in private. Only in public, or when he wants sex.
I wriggle my fingers free from his to grab the pan handle so I can stir the sauce bubbling on the stove.
He frowns, then steps away, moving to the fridge.
He gets out a beer but doesn’t offer me a drink. Forbes doesn’t think women should drink beer, especially from the bottle. He says it’s unladylike to do so, but I drink it when he’s not around. He thinks I have it in the fridge for him, and I let him believe that.
He comes over and leans with his back up against the counter beside me. I turn the heat down to let the sauce simmer. I’m making Pasta Norma. Simple but delicious. Our old cook, Mrs. Kennedy, showed me how to make it. She used to teach me how to cook when Oliver wasn’t around. I missed her a lot when she left. Oliver had let her go when he’d overheard her questioning me about the bruises on my arms.
“I was thinking I should move in here.” Forbes words drop into the air like oil in water.
My hand freezes around the pan’s handle.
No. No. No.
“What do you think?”
I have to tread carefully here.
Keeping a neutral face, I turn to him. “I thought you enjoyed living with the guys?”
Forbes lives in a huge rental house two blocks over from here with four of his frat buddies.
“I do, but it’s loud. They’re always partying, and I need quiet to work. You know how it is. That’s why you live alone, so you can have peace to study.”
Actually no. I live alone because I have no girlfriends to room with, and I would never, ever want to live with a man again. Especially not you.
Taking the spoon, I start stirring the sauce again.
Unable to stop my next words, I try to get them out as gently as possible. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon? I mean, we’ve only been together seven months.”
The length of pause tells me just the level of anger we’ve reached.
And it’s not good. Not good at all.
“Don’t you want to live with me?” His voice doesn’t sound hurt. Just angry.
Stupid, Mia.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Of course I do, I’m just thinking of you. I don’t want you to feel tied down too quickly.” I’m speaking quickly, but it’s pointless. I know this.
“Bullshit.” He shoves the pan back off the heat, and grabs a hand full of my long hair, tangling his fingers into it. He moves behind me and slowly pulls my head back toward him. “Would you feel tied down if I moved in, Mia?”
“Forbes, please,” I say, swallowing hard.
“Answer me!”
“No, of course I wouldn’t.”
“Is there someone else you want to live with, Mia? Another guy? Are you fucking someone else?” His hand is tightening on my hair, pulling the roots. My eyes water from the pain.