Page 45 of Losing Control
“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat dry and hoarse. Michael pulls the chair opposite me out and takes a seat.
“Do you want to talk about last night?” I shake my head at him. I have no desire to figure out whatever was going on in his mind. “Okay. Do you understand why I had to act the way that I did?” I’m guessing that this is the part where I am supposed to say yes and behave like the good girlfriend. “I take it that from your silence that you do.” It’s not a question. More of a statement. “I don’t like having to get like that. I don’t enjoy it.” I look up at him with disbelief.
He doesn’t enjoy it? Well fuck, neither do I!
“Are you going to spend the whole weekend not speaking to me?” he asks.
“No,” I quickly answer.
“Good, because that would make things awkward for me.”
Awkward? That would make it fucking awkward?
It takes all of my willpower not to talk back to him. I pick up my mug instead and sip my coffee.
“Why don’t you go and freshen up and then we can spend the day watching films and cuddling on the sofa,” he suggests, although I know it’s not a suggestion, it’s what he wants me to do.
“Okay.” I stand up, taking my mug with me and I turn to walk out of the kitchen.
“And don’t even think about sneaking your phone in the bathroom with you. I have already taken the liberty of hiding it, just in case you feel the need to go contacting your friends.”
I don’t miss the smirk plastered on his face. I just nod and proceed to the bathroom.
The hurt that I am feeling is indescribable.
I thought that when he hit me that it was bad, but it doesn’t even come close to the stabbing pain that is searing my heart.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Numb
It’s now five-thirty in the evening, and Michael has been acting like his old self since I emerged from the bathroom this morning. I’m so confused by his behaviour right now. How can he be so loving one minute, and a monster the next? It doesn’t make sense.
Maybe I am going crazy?
Maybe I am at fault and I just can’t see it?
“Which one do you want to watch next?” he asks me, getting up to take the DVD out of the DVD player.
“I don’t mind, you pick.”
“No, no, I insist.”
“Something with action in it.” There is no way that I want to be watching a romantic chick flick right now.
“Okay, well we either have Pulp Fiction or The Godfather.”
“Pulp Fiction is fine.”
“Pulp Fiction it is.” He puts the film on and then comes back to the sofa, sitting as close to me as possible and putting his arm around me.
“This is nice,” he comments and all I can do is merely hum in agreement.
“Are you okay?” he asks me. He must sense my discomfort.
“I’m just tired.” I want to scream at him that no I am not okay, and he is the reason why, but I daren’t.
“Want to go to bed instead?”
