Page 85 of His to Burn
Instead of indulging the impulse to fight, I simply nodded and then sat. If I didn’t feel like shit, I would have patted myself on the back for my growth.
But whatever silver lining that was, was no match for the rainstorm here now.
Jack wasn’t the biggest talker, but his presence always gave me comfort.
Now, I may as well have been alone.
He didn’t even radiate anger.
It was like he wasn’t there at all, and that left me bereft.
Still, my pride wouldn’t let me open my mouth.
The circumstances made pride an extravagant luxury, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
Another great childhood coping mechanism that I still hadn’t been able to shake.
“Soup’s up,” Jack said.
It may as well have beenfuck you.
His first words in—I looked up at the clock—forty-five minutes, and any doubt I had about how hard this would be was dispelled.
Suddenly exhausted, I ate my food and tried to pretend I wasn’t bothered.
Jack did, too, and he was a hell of a lot better at this game than me.
After dinner, I wordlessly cleaned up, and forced myself not to look in his direction—and to not give into my frustration.
We were adults.
We were in a fucked-up situation.
We could have a conversation.
I wiped the already clean counter again, and then turned to face him.
“So today?—”
“Don’t.” Jack’s voice was like glass over concrete.
I refused to be deterred.
“Jack, what I mea?—”
“Asia, I told you to fucking drop it.”
Oh, a name drop. He was serious.
So was I.
“I know what you said, but I’m not your subordinate, and we need to talk,” I said, trying to keep my voice as steely as his.
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Fine,” he said with a shrug that was anything but casual, “talk.”
Before I could speak, he was up and out of the room.
“Very mature, Jackson,” I called out loud enough for him to hear, but I didn’t follow.
