“If you don’t want to be with me,” he says coldly. “Just say it. If you can’t trust me enough, just tell me now. I’m trying to change for you. But I don’t want to waste time on this thing if you can’t get over my past.”
I’m frozen, not by the bitingly cold wind, but by his words, by his angry face. He seems so ready to discard me, as though I’m not worthy enough of even a conversation. It’s enough to suck the air right out of me.
“You’d throw this away, just like that?” I’m incredulous. “I didn’t say that I can’t trust you. But your phone has been blowing up for an hour and you clearly don’t want to deal with it and you don’t want me to know what it is. Your ‘past’ isn’t very distant so you have to understand that I’m a little nervous. And you shouldn’t be changing for me. You should be changing for you.”
Pax stares at me and his eyes are cold now, like they were when I first met him. All traces of warmth are gone and I shudder, hating the look on his face and hating this conversation. I don’t know how it went downhill so fast.
“Don’t be mad,” I tell him. “I’m just trying to talk about this with you. This is what people do in a relationship.”
“People attack each other?” he asks, his voice raised. “Because that’s what I feel like you’re doing. You don’t know who is texting me, so you’re insecure. And all of a sudden, your insecurity is my problem.”
Pax is seriously pissed. He is flexing his hands so tightly that his knuckles are white. I gulp and try to figure out how to calm the situation down. I hate conflict, but I hate even more that he has misunderstood.
“I didn’t attack you,” I begin. “I was just curious about who was trying to reach you.”
He raises an eyebrow angrily. “Really? If you were that curious, then why didn’t you just ask to see my phone?”
I am flabbergasted and stumble around for something to say as the wind whips my hair around my face. “Because in a relationship that is built on trust, people don’t ask to see each other’s phones.”
“Yet you really want to see mine, don’t you?” he challenges, his eyes spitting. “Because you don’t trust me.”
He digs in his pocket and pulls out his phone, turning the screen to me. There are 57 unread text messages.
“Here you go. Look to your heart’s content.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “Did you see how many there are?”
And they’re all from one number.
“Who is it?” I ask hesitantly, afraid he’s going to yell again. He shakes his head.
“It’s Jill. I told her that I’m not going to see her again and that I’m not going to supply her habit. But from these texts, it looks like she’s desperate and she’s begging for it.”
“But you don’t have anything to give her, right?” I ask slowly. He’d told me that he dumped it all out.
He stares at me harshly.
“I didn’t lie to you,” he says abruptly. “I said I dumped it, and I dumped it.”
“Have you seen her since you had that conversation with her?” I ask slowly. It just doesn’t seem normal that someone who had been rejected would be this persistent. Unless they were insane. “Is she crazy?”
He shakes his head again.
“No, she’s not crazy. She’s just a desperate addict who needs help. I should have cut her off long ago, but I was too much of a dick to care. And no. I haven’t seen her.”
As he speaks, his phone lights up again, with yet another text. 58. He rolls his eyes and I eye him uncertainly.
”Shouldn’t you at least answer her?”
“No. It won’t do any good. She’s desperate. She’s not thinking logically so it wouldn’t matter what I say. I’ve seen her act like this before. She gets hysterical and there’s no reasoning with her. Fuck this. I’m not going to let this stupid wench cause problems with us.”
He raises his hand and I flinch.
He freezes, as hurt washes over his face.
“What the fuck? Did you think I was going to hit you?” he asks, his voice both wavering and furious. “Do you really think I would ever hurt you, Mila?”
He stares at me, waiting for an answer, but I don’t know what to say. I doubt that anything I say would help so I just look at him limply. He shakes his head again.
“I was just going to get rid of this. Fuck, Mila.”
He throws his phone into the lake. I watch it sink into the frigid depths and then turn to him.
“Pax, I –“
“Don’t,” he snaps coldly, turning his back on me to take the wheel. “Just don’t. I can’t talk to you right now.”
He fires up the engine and guns it. The force of it throws me back onto the sidewall and I grip it with freezing hands. He’s pissed and I know there’s no reasoning with him. He needs to cool down.
We speed toward the shore and after each swell we crest, we land hard on the surface of the water. It’s bone-jarring.