Page 43 of Craving Chaos

My mind is instantly brainstorming solutions when her reply lashes me like a whip.

“Excuse me?”

I raise my hands placatingly. “Now, don’t get sharp with me. I was only trying to figure out what might be bothering you.”

“And you figured I must be hormonal?” She’s almost begging for a fight.

My jaw muscles flex and strain. “No, but now I am.”

“Because if a woman is upset about something, she must be hormonal.” Her hands go to her hips, and I feel the quicksand pulling me further underground.

“Quit putting words in my mouth.” I stand and give her a menacing glare.

She shoots back one of her own. “And how else am I supposed to take that? You decide I’m acting funny so you figure my period is coming? Sounds like man math to me.”

I close the distance between us and lean so I’m towering over her. “I thought you might be worried about how to manage without any supplies here. I wanted to help you figure out a plan and not be an insensitive prick, but since you’d rather jump to conclusions than hear me out, I’ll leave you to it.” I whirl around and storm from the cabin, making sure to grab my jacket on the way out.

Time to do some fishing but not because I want my prize. Right now, I need for Shae to lose. It pisses me off that she occupies so much of my thoughts, and when I try to be considerate, she throws it back in my face.

I ought to tie her up and force her to tell me what the hell is wrong. Instead, I imagine all the things I want to do and say to her while I cast my fishing line into the creek. My pine branch rod with the line tied at the end is laughable. I don’t know why I’m still trying. I’ve spent a number of hours casting without the slightest nibble.

Thickheaded determination won’t allow me to quit.

Plus, what the fuck else do I have to do?

I can’t even find peace when I sleep because she’s there, her supple body pressed against mine. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my hands from roaming. Maybe we both just need to get laid.

No, she’s pulling away from me. I can feel it, but I don’t understand why.

I know her body responds to me. If that’s the case, what’s the hangup? Surely not her girlfriend. She hasn’t said a word about the woman since we arrived.

I know I can’t always have my way, but being denied what I want for no good reason feels pointlessly infuriating. Maybe tonight, I return the favor. Let her know how it feels to be cast off without explanation.

CHAPTER 22

SHAE

Renzo turned his back on me. Literally.

We slept back-to-back last night, and I hated it. The bed wasn’t any more or less comfortable in our new arrangement. We were pressed as close to one another as always, so I was plenty warm. Nothing was physically wrong, yet I was miserable.

The emotional isolation penetrated so much deeper than I could have imagined.

The truth is, I think my period would start soon if I wasn’t stressed and starving. I wouldn’t be surprised if I skip this cycle, all things considered, but hormones could still be amplifying my emotions. It would explain why I snapped at Renzo. I’ve thought about it all morning and have decided six different times that I should apologize and explain, only to circle back and insist the distance between us is for the best. Renzo may be able to keep his emotions separate from sex, but I can’t. Not where he’s concerned. And if we have no chance of a relationship, I refuse to let myself be hurt for nothing.

I will not fall for another person I can’t be with, nor will I sacrifice who I am for the sake of a relationship.

I don’t like hurting him, but I have to protect myself. I have to be smart. Every time I tell myself that, another voice asks if keeping him at a distance is the best thing for me, then why does it feel so yucky? Not only do I miss feeling connected to him, I feel guilty about hurting him and anger over the hand we’ve been dealt. And frustration. So much fucking frustration.

The negativity of it all is so much that I do some shadowboxing in front of the cabin. I should conserve my energy. We’re not eating enough calories to justify exercise, but I need it to clear my head.

Renzo follows me outside. I expect him to grab his fishing pole and head to the creek, but he surprised me by joining me instead.

“You interested in a sparring partner, or you prefer to practice alone?” His gruff tone is intentionally indifferent. I’ve done that. He’s put up barriers to match my own, and the guilt is more than I can bear.

“Sure, training’s always better with a partner.”

He lifts his hands in front of him to serve as targets and spreads his feet to steady himself. “Jab, jab, cross,” he calls out, instructing me of my next moves. I’ll have to keep my touches extra light since we don’t have pads for his hands. The point of the exercise is more about quick thinking and reflexes than brute force, so hitting hard isn’t all that crucial.

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