Page 169 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

I turn up the song.

Suddenly, my German grins when he thinks he understands what that means.

I’m so bad!

He undoes his seatbelt, opens the door, and gets out of the car. I reach over, close the car door, and take off like a rocket.

Through the rearview mirror, I see Eric standing still. He wasn’t expecting that. But the same fury that made me take off now makes me stop once he starts vanishing from sight.

What am I doing?

Once again, I’ve let myself be carried away by my impulses, and what I’ve just done is wrong. Very wrong. I look for traffic both ways and make a U-turn. I feel a contraction and curse. There’s no question I brought this on myself. I’m going back for him. I see Eric walking down the sidewalk. He sees me and stops. His face is totally Iceman.

He looks scary!

I make another U-turn, and, when I’m at his side, his eyes pierce me. He walks to my door decisively and throws it open.

“Get out of the car!”

He’s furious. I don’t move.

“Get. Out. Of. The. Car,” he says very slowly.

I do what he says, but when I try to kiss him to ask for forgiveness, he does the cobra. Not unexpected. At a time like this, I would do the same.

He’s very angry.

It’s cold as fuck, and I suspect he’s going to pay me back by just driving away and leaving me here. I deserve it.

I don’t move, just watch him get in the car, and, after huffing and slamming his hand on the steering wheel, he looks at me and hisses.

“What are you waiting for? Get in the car.”

As I walk to the passenger door, I hope he takes off. But he doesn’t. He waits until I get in the car, and, once I’ve put on my seatbelt, he turns off the car.

“Can you tell me why you just did that?” he asks.

“It’s the hormones.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jude. I’m sick of your fucking hormones,” he says, seething.

He’s right. I can’t blame everything on my hormones.

“I was furious.”

Eric nods. “And since you were furious, you can make me get out of the car in the middle of the night and just leave, right?”

“I came back. I’m here, right?”

My eyes fill with tears. I’ve screwed up, and it’s my doing, mine alone.

Eric looks at me again and finally moderates his tone of voice.

“Jude, I’m trying to have all the patience in the world with you. I understand your hormones are playing tricks on you. I understand you resent me for a thousand things every day, and that you’ll get mad at absurd things. I understand that’s all part of being pregnant. But now I want you to understand that my patience has begun to crack, and I’m afraid of losing my temper with you.”

I don’t answer. He has more right to respond that way than a saint. His patience with me has been infinite. I feel terrible.

“In your state, I don’t want anyone to touch you,” he says. “I want to take care of you. I need it! I enjoy sharing you other times, but not now. Now I only want you for me and—”

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