Page 70 of Bombshell

“Calista texted you.” I lifted my eyes back to look at his face. I needed to see it. If he was lying, I’d be able to tell.

His nostrils flared. “You reading my texts now, Tink?” he asked with accusation in his tone.

I thought I’d have preferred he slap me across the face. It would have been less painful.

“Not exactly. I was getting up, and you got a text. I glanced down and saw it. Not on purpose, but then I hadn’t thought you had anything to hide.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t,” he replied. “But it seems like you’ve already made your assumptions.”

I shook my head. “No. That’s why I am asking you what it was about.”

Micah let out a hard laugh. “I don’t answer to anyone. You can either trust me or not.”

I refused to cry in front of him. He wasn’t giving me anything here, and it sounded like he wasn’t going to.

“I trust you. But I don’t see why I can’t ask what you were doing with Calista last night.”

“That isn’t your business. Don’t make this something it isn’t, Dolly.”

Dolly. Not Tink. To think, once, I had hated the name Tink. Hearing him say my name now was like an insult. As if I had been knocked down on the ladder of importance to him. Did he have a nickname for Calista? Had he called her by it last night?

“I see,” I managed to get out past the agony gripping me by the throat.

He shook his head. “Whatever. I can’t deal with this shit right now,” he said, sounding annoyed before walking into the bedroom.

Unable to move, I stood there, battling on what to do now. Did I apologize? Or did I go in there and demand he tell me? This was my business. We were…together. Right? It felt like we were. He had called me his. That made us a couple. Didn’t it?

I flinched at the sound of him slamming a drawer shut. He was angry. Why did he get to be angry? It was me who should be slamming drawers. Not him. Nothing had been done to him. I hadn’t caused him to question me. I had been here last night. In my bed. Sleeping. Trusting him.

He walked back out of the bedroom, shrugging on his vest over a black T-shirt I had washed yesterday for him. When he got to the door, he grabbed his keys from the table and paused before turning his gaze to me. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said simply.

Nothing more.

I nodded, and then he opened the door and left. It was the first time he’d done that without kissing me in a month. Since we had become whatever it was we were.

My vision blurred as the tears filled my eyes, then began to slide down my face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Loving someone shouldn’t be like this.

I stared at the door, waiting, praying it would open back up and he’d walk back inside. The rev of his motorcycle was faint, but I heard it in the silence of the apartment. He was really leaving me like this.

Loving someone enough for both of you wasn’t easy. It seemed I was about to find out just how hard it could be.

Turning my head toward the kitchen, I let my thoughts go to the paring knife. The relief that would come from that would be instant but fleeting. The shame would come shortly after. It always did.

This time, I had to fight it. I couldn’t rely on someone else to be strong for me. I had to find that strength inside myself. When it all was stripped away, it was me I was left with, and that girl I had been was grown up now. I could overcome the past. It was time to conquer my demons.

The library was busy today, and that helped keep me from getting inside my own head. I focused on each task at hand and didn’t try and work through what had happened this morning. When I had first gotten to work, I had almost texted Micah that I was sorry—twice—but I’d turned my phone off and put it in the back office so I wouldn’t be tempted to pull it out in a moment of weakness.

I had nothing to apologize for. He did. I loved the man, but I needed to love myself too. Not cutting this morning had been a milestone for me. In the past, that would have sent me down a spiral. It made me feel stronger, walking out of the apartment this morning without hurting myself. It had been a small step, but it was giving me the will to take more.

“Do you mind running this book over to Professor Nobleman?” Zander asked as he held out a thick textbook to me. “I would, but there are five more books I need to pull for other inquiries.”

I took the book. “I got it,” I assured him. “Any other books I need to deliver?”

He shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

The art building was half a mile away, but with the traffic and parking, it would be faster to walk it over there. Heading out the door and down the steps, I realized too soon that walking alone was going to give me time to think about Micah. I tried to think about the essay I had to write for my psychology class and the dynamic with my mom as the point of interest. She’d never read it, so I should be safe from getting my earful.

The sun was extra bright, and I squinted as I stopped at the crosswalk. I wished I’d grabbed my sunglasses. This was sure to give me a headache. My eyes were sensitive. At least the pain of a migraine would dull everything else. Like the constant, heavy ache in my chest that Micah had left there.

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