Page 139 of Maybe You

And I let it sink in.

This knowing.

A bone deep certainty that settles in my bones and circulates in my bloodstream.

“You have,” I say slowly. Slowly, slowly, slowly but steadily, my heart picks up speed. “How many times?”

He stares back at me, stubbornly mute.

“Five? Six?” My hands shake the tiniest bit when I lift them up. “Stop me when I get to the right number.”

I run out of fingers and drop my hands back into my lap.

I nod.

“You love me, too,” I say softly.

“Stop!” he snaps. He’d sound harsh if I couldn’t hear the fear in that one word. It’s oozing from every letter. It’s in the way he holds himself.

“You do,” I say.

He grits his teeth. “No.”

Unbelievably, my lips pull into a small smile.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I say to the thudding staccato of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Do you have any self-preservation left anywhere in you?” bursts from his lips. “I fucking hit you!”

“Ethan pushed your elbow into my face.”

“Don’t make excuses for me,” he practically spits out.

“It’s not an excuse. Just an account of what happened. At most, it was an accident.”

He shakes his head.

“I told you,” he says. “I told you I would hurt you. Do you see it now? Do you finally believe me?”

“It was an accident, Sutt.” I enunciate every word as clearly as I can, as if that has ever helped. “An accident.”

“That’s an excuse. And it doesn’t matter. Excuses never do. Words never do. What matters are actions. I hit you. Me. I did that. I hurt you.” He swallows so hard the gulp is audible. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t!” Frustration is loud and clear in my voice, because I don’t know how to get through to him. “Fuck’s sake, it was an accident. You didn’t hit me.”

He looks away, staring unseeingly into the distance for the longest time before meeting my eyes again. And the look he gives me? It’s hollow.

“Is that what you’re going to tell yourself the next time? What about the one after that? How many accidents will you have before you start to realize things have gone horribly wrong for you? How many excuses will you make for me, then?

“Because of course it’ll be an accident the first few times. And then I’ll be stressed from work and the accidents will continue. Then you won’t have dinner ready on time, or you’ll smile at somebody for too long, or you’ll go out to drinks with your friends without asking for permission.”

I stare at him while he’s speaking, and I can’t breathe.

It’s different hearing a variation of the same thing from Sutton.

“How many accidents will you have while I take everything you have to give? Everything that makes you you?” he continues with that same terrible hollowness in his voice. “While I methodically rip it apart and destroy it. While I take everything you are. Not all at once. Not just for a moment. I will take it bit by bit, every day, until you wake up one morning and realize you’re transparent because there’s nothing left.” He lets out a cold, harsh laugh.

“How many excuses will you make then? Because if you really think about it, you haven’t always been the best partner, have you? You’ve talked back, right? And nagged about not being on time. And, really, when my team lost, you should’ve been more understanding instead of saying it’s just a game. And that one time I came home after a failed contract negotiation, and you sang too loudly in the shower? That was inconsiderate and thoughtless. And maybe if you try to be better, do better, everything is going to be fine again. Because you can change me.” He sends me a pitying look. “First, I’ll make you transparent. And then I’ll take everything from you. Until there’s nothing left. Nothing.” He spits that last word out viciously.

---