‘Okay!’ he yells from behind me. ‘You will wait here. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘I’ll go home.’ I shout over my shoulder, continuing on my way and shutting myself in the bathroom when I get there. I’m not waiting around for him to come back. His being reasonable and relenting to my refusal to go with him has just been trampled by the follow up of “you will wait here”. I WILL do no such thing! I splash my face with cold water to try and cool down my raging temper. Why has he not given me the countdown? That’s what he usually does when I don’t conform. I hear him in the bedroom on his phone. Wondering who he’s talking to, I open the door.
‘See you in a while.’ He hangs up, throwing his phone on the bed. Who is he seeing in a while? He stands with his back to me for a long time, his head dropped. He’s thinking, and I feel like an impostor all of a sudden.
Eventually, he exhales heavily and turns towards me. He watches me for a short time before heading into the bathroom to take a shower. I stand in the middle of the room wondering what to do. He’s acting strange. No countdown; no manhandling. What’s going on? Yesterday was so perfect, and now I’m back to mind meltdown. It looks like I didn’t need Sarah to yank me off of Central Jesse Cloud Nine after all. I’ve managed to do that all by myself.
Ten minutes later, I’m still stood twiddling my thumbs, trying to work out what to do with myself. I hear the shower shut off. He comes out of the bathroom, heading straight into the wardrobe without a word. I’m troubled by his defeated expression that also harbours a bit of sorrow. I think I actually want him to explode or give me the countdown. I have no idea what he’s thinking, and it’s the most frustrating feeling in the world.
He appears at the wardrobe door. ‘I need to go.’ he utters regretfully. He looks completely tormented. ‘Kate’s on her way over.’
I frown. ‘Why?’
‘So you don’t leave.’ He goes back into the wardrobe, me following swiftly behind.
Pulling some jeans on, he looks up at me briefly but gives nothing away. He grabs a black t-shirt from a hanger, pulling it on over his head quickly, before he sets about getting his Converse on.
‘I’m going home.’ I assert, but he still doesn’t look at me. What’s wrong with him? I can feel my temper flaring at his lack of receptiveness, and not knowing what else to do, I start pulling down my clothes from the hangers, draping them over my arms as I do.
‘What are you doing?’ He takes them from my hands, hanging them back up. ‘You’re not leaving.’ he growls.
‘Yes, I am.’ I shout, yanking them back down.
‘Put the fucking clothes back, Ava!’ he yells.
I hear a rip of material as I fight him away, and within a few seconds, my arms are free of clothes and I’m being hauled from the wardrobe. I’m pinned to the bed, struggling against him in complete defiance, but I go nowhere. If he tries to fuck me, I’ll scream!
‘Calm the fuck down!’ he yells, grabbing my jaw and pulling it to the centre so I have to look at him. I slam my eyes shut, puffing and panting like an exhausted greyhound. I’m not going to let him manipulate me with sex. ‘Open your eyes, Ava.’
‘No!’ I sound so childish, but I know if I do, I’ll be swallowed up in lust.
‘Open!’ He shakes my jaw slightly.
‘No!’
‘Fine,’ he shouts, while I continue to struggle. ‘Listen to me, lady. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve told you repeatedly, so get fucking use to it!’ He shifts his body so he has a firmer grip of me. ‘I’m going to The Manor, and when I get back, we’re going to sit down to talk about us.’
I stop struggling. Talk about us? What? Like a proper discussion about what the hell is going on here because I’m desperate to know this.