Boone’s head shook stiffly as his hand clenched into a fist around my comforter. “I won’t let you rip me open, gut me, then leave me to pick up the pieces and try to figure out where they went in the first place.”
My pacing came to an abrupt stop again. “I left you ripped open and gutted?” I scanned the floor. Where was a shoe when I needed to throw one? “Please say you’re fucking with me. Please don’t tell me you’re serious about me doing that to you.”
Finally, he turned to face me. His face held such a foreign expression, he didn’t look like Boone anymore. “Do I look serious?”
That question didn’t require an answer. The longer I stared into his face, the more I felt my anger crumble. The anger that drained from me was replaced with confusion. I’d had so much confusion in my life, I found myself wishing back the anger. At least it came with an explanation as to the place from which it had been derived.
I knew, or at least I thought I knew, where some of his anger came from, but years later, it still didn’t add up to why Boone had left me when he knew how we’d felt about each other. I was only seeing one part of the picture, or else I’d underestimated his affections for me.
“I know I should have told you sooner. I know I shouldn’t have kept that kind of secret from you, but I was eighteen years old and terrified. I didn’t understand what was happening, let alone how to explain it to you.” I started for my dresser, where those numbered angels rested. In comparison to the rest, the number eighteen angel had always seemed to have such a sad face. I guessed now that that probably had more to do with my experience than the sculptor’s. “I was scared, but I should have you told you before you found out from someone else.”
I ran my thumb across the angel’s face and felt a ball clog up my throat. I could relive a lot of memories and remember the past in all its shapes and forms, but this was the period I kept locked down as a general policy. These memories had the ability to turn a person’s blood to poison and encase their organs in cement.
“You’re sorry for what exactly?” Boone’s voice had a sharpness to it, one I hadn’t been expecting. “That you got pregnant, or that you weren’t sure who the baby’s father was?”
My thumb froze as it was stroking the angel’s face. “What?”
“I think you heard me.”
My fingers curled around the angel. There was so much tension in them, I felt as if I could break her into pieces. “I heard you, but my what was more of an excuse me? and not one of a repeat what you just said variety.”
“Come on, Clara. You were a kid back then. If nothing else, age gives you something of an excuse for lying, but you’re old enough to know better now.” The mattress springs groaned as I guessed he shoved off it to stand, but I wasn’t going to look at him. Not with what he was accusing me of. “Plus, we’re not together anymore, so you don’t have to worry about me breaking up with you if you tell me you were fucking Ford at the same time you were giving it to me.”
One of the wings snapped off of the angel from my grip tightening around her. She couldn’t hold herself together when that much pressure was applied. Everything had their breaking point, and this angel had just found hers. I’d found mine years ago.
“What?” Anger made my voice tremble as I lifted the angel from her spot in the back row. Her broken wing stayed behind.
“You. Heard. Me.”
I told myself to take a breath. I ordered myself to take a breath. I should have known better. I hadn’t managed to take a single breath since arriving. When the breathing exercise failed, I spun around, angel in hand, and hurled it across the room. Right at him.
“Fuck, Clara!” Boone hollered, ducking just in time. The angel whizzed over his head and smashed into the wall behind him. “What the hell?”
He stayed crouched, making sure I wasn’t armed with another, before inspecting the carnage behind him. Contrary to what I’d expected, she hadn’t shattered into a million pieces and powder. She was scattered across the floor in a good dozen different pieces.
She’d wound up being stronger than I expected. Those porcelain angels had always seemed so fragile, but it was only the way they appeared, not what they were really made of.
“That’s what you get for accusing me of sleeping with Ford when we were together.” My voice shook, filling the room and seeming to echo off the walls. “How dare you. How fucking dare you.” I paced again, so much adrenaline mixed with anger pouring into me that I felt as though it would erupt right out of my skull.