the flood of tears breaks free. I grab a towel off the rack and use it to muffle my sobs as I sink onto the toilet.
I’m not crying because of the hurtful things Andrés has said to me tonight. I’m crying because now he’s made me cry, I know he’s capable of doing it again.
* * *
Andrés
What the hell is wrong with me?
I lean my ear against the bathroom door, but the fan muffles all sounds from the other side. I get this sinking feeling in my gut that Christina is crying, all because I acted like a total ass.
There was no reason for me to treat Christina like shit. No reason at all, other than my own stupid, crazy insecurities. I should have confronted her sooner rather than let all this rage build up inside me. Ever since Sunday night, when she’d gotten worked up over the thought of marriage and kids, I have been on edge. It’s as if I’m waiting for her to pack her things and run off with Jackson.
For the past three days, my common sense and fears have been at war with each other. If Christina wanted Jackson, she wouldn’t have called it off with him. Then again, she loves Tyler and treats him like her own child. Odd she dotes on that baby when she refuses to consider the possibility of having her own children. My children.
I would like to have a family with Christina one day, but she’s made it clear that day will never come. I feel like all this time and energy I’ve spent on this relationship has been for nothing.
I didn’t need to finish those timesheets tonight. They could have waited until morning. I don’t understand why I pushed her away. Even though I suspect the answer, I want so badly to deny it.
Why continue this relationship when we both know it won’t go anywhere?
My chest tightens when I hear a muffled sob coming from the bathroom.
Damn. She is crying.
I knock on the bathroom door, knowing what I have to do.
* * *
Christina
I’m pretty sure Andrés has fallen asleep by the time I sneak out of the bathroom and slip into bed. At least, I hope he’s asleep. After a good cry and a long soak in the tub, I think I’m finally composed enough to come out. I just want to go to sleep. I’ve got a long day at work tomorrow, and I’m not in the mood to rehash our argument.
Correction: I’m not in the mood to rehash him treating me like shit.
Just as I slip under the covers, and turn my back to my boyfriend, he rolls over and wraps his arm around me.
I stiffen and stifle a groan as he leans up and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says against my ear.
I tense up even more and bite down on my lip. I will not let him upset me again. I will not.
“Mija,” he says as he pulls on my shoulder and tries to roll me toward him.
“I’m tired,” I say on an exhale, afraid to say anything else before I tear up. I curl into a fetal ball while scooting closer to the edge of the bed.
I hear Andrés sigh, and I hope maybe he’s ready to give up and go to sleep. Damn him, he scoots closer and tightens his hug.
“Baby, I’m sorry I upset you,” he says as he runs his fingers through my hair. “Please talk to me.”
He knows how much I love him massaging my scalp. He knows this, and he’s using it to weaken my resolve. But talking about how he treated me will only upset me more, and I really am tired.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say through a frustrated breath. “I want to sleep.”
There’s a pause, and finally, I think he’s given up, until he clears his throat and sits up. Next thing I know, he’s turned on the lamp by our bed. I squint against the bright light and bury my face in my pillow.
“I don’t want you to go to sleep angry with me, mija.”
I respond with a groan but say nothing.
“I’ll talk then,” he answers, and thankfully turns the light back off. “I never knew my dad. My mom died when I was six. Tio told me the pharmacy made a mistake. They’d given her the wrong dose of pills. Then, when I was a little
I’m not crying because of the hurtful things Andrés has said to me tonight. I’m crying because now he’s made me cry, I know he’s capable of doing it again.
* * *
Andrés
What the hell is wrong with me?
I lean my ear against the bathroom door, but the fan muffles all sounds from the other side. I get this sinking feeling in my gut that Christina is crying, all because I acted like a total ass.
There was no reason for me to treat Christina like shit. No reason at all, other than my own stupid, crazy insecurities. I should have confronted her sooner rather than let all this rage build up inside me. Ever since Sunday night, when she’d gotten worked up over the thought of marriage and kids, I have been on edge. It’s as if I’m waiting for her to pack her things and run off with Jackson.
For the past three days, my common sense and fears have been at war with each other. If Christina wanted Jackson, she wouldn’t have called it off with him. Then again, she loves Tyler and treats him like her own child. Odd she dotes on that baby when she refuses to consider the possibility of having her own children. My children.
I would like to have a family with Christina one day, but she’s made it clear that day will never come. I feel like all this time and energy I’ve spent on this relationship has been for nothing.
I didn’t need to finish those timesheets tonight. They could have waited until morning. I don’t understand why I pushed her away. Even though I suspect the answer, I want so badly to deny it.
Why continue this relationship when we both know it won’t go anywhere?
My chest tightens when I hear a muffled sob coming from the bathroom.
Damn. She is crying.
I knock on the bathroom door, knowing what I have to do.
* * *
Christina
I’m pretty sure Andrés has fallen asleep by the time I sneak out of the bathroom and slip into bed. At least, I hope he’s asleep. After a good cry and a long soak in the tub, I think I’m finally composed enough to come out. I just want to go to sleep. I’ve got a long day at work tomorrow, and I’m not in the mood to rehash our argument.
Correction: I’m not in the mood to rehash him treating me like shit.
Just as I slip under the covers, and turn my back to my boyfriend, he rolls over and wraps his arm around me.
I stiffen and stifle a groan as he leans up and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says against my ear.
I tense up even more and bite down on my lip. I will not let him upset me again. I will not.
“Mija,” he says as he pulls on my shoulder and tries to roll me toward him.
“I’m tired,” I say on an exhale, afraid to say anything else before I tear up. I curl into a fetal ball while scooting closer to the edge of the bed.
I hear Andrés sigh, and I hope maybe he’s ready to give up and go to sleep. Damn him, he scoots closer and tightens his hug.
“Baby, I’m sorry I upset you,” he says as he runs his fingers through my hair. “Please talk to me.”
He knows how much I love him massaging my scalp. He knows this, and he’s using it to weaken my resolve. But talking about how he treated me will only upset me more, and I really am tired.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say through a frustrated breath. “I want to sleep.”
There’s a pause, and finally, I think he’s given up, until he clears his throat and sits up. Next thing I know, he’s turned on the lamp by our bed. I squint against the bright light and bury my face in my pillow.
“I don’t want you to go to sleep angry with me, mija.”
I respond with a groan but say nothing.
“I’ll talk then,” he answers, and thankfully turns the light back off. “I never knew my dad. My mom died when I was six. Tio told me the pharmacy made a mistake. They’d given her the wrong dose of pills. Then, when I was a little
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