the way he is with you… That isn’t the Mr. Pennington we know, and that doesn’t make you an idiot. You’re human. You feel the way you do because of the way he is with you. He’s only doing this to protect you. You said yourself that Mr. Grayson was pissed because Mr. Pennington’s not spending time with the rest of us. That’s why he’s doing this. You know that. You don’t deserve to feel this way. You haven’t done anything wrong.” She’s speed talking, trying to get every last thought in her mind out before I fall apart.
But it’s no use. My tears are streaming down my cheeks at her so-generous words and the genuine heart behind them. Her words are validating, but they don’t make the pain disappear, and long after she’s left my room and I’ve cried my tear bank empty, I make the boldest decision of my life. My pain and sadness have morphed to rage, as they always do, and I have no intention of not confronting him. I throw on my oldest and most tattered jean shorts and T-shirt, looking every bit the disgraceful, normal woman I shouldn’t, and I march the eight feet across the hall to his apartment. I knock and wait, and a few seconds later, the door opens.
“What is it?” He’s cold, his eyes dead.
His expression takes me back to the weeks he tormented us both with his frigid attitude, and I blurt out my first thoughts before my restraints kick in. “Were you going to tell me?”
My eyes tear instantly, and he grabs me by the wrist, pulling me harshly inside his apartment. He pushes me up against the wall by the door with his hands at my waist. His face is contorted and pained. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, and he’s fighting himself incredibly while I watch.
When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth. “I don’t owe you any explanation about who I choose to fuck. I thought I made that clear to you.”
And, oh God, how those words pierce straight through my heart. My tears boil over, and my body is wracked with a new wave of furious sobs. My face is scrunched as I fight the emotion, and I can’t escape his grasp as he glares into my face.
I want nothing else than to turn this pain to rage, but my wounded heart overwhelms me, and if my pain isn’t enough, he decides to add one further clarification for me to chew on. “You and I … we’re nothing to one another.”
And there’s my fury. My mouth scrunched up in a mad grimace, I reach up, hitting him hard across the face with my open hand. The slapping sound is loud, and instant shock registers on his face. He pauses for only a second before he grabs my wrists roughly, and swiftly plants them above my head, pinning my body to the wall with his own. He’s seething with fury as he glares down at me.
But I’m done caring what he thinks, and I unleash my accusation on him. “You’re a liar,” I snarl at his face, condemning him with my words as he glares back at me. His jaw is clenching, and his nostrils are flaring in his rage. He won’t break my stare, and he won’t release my body, but I have one last attack, and I unleash it with every last ounce of rage I can muster. “I hate you.” My lips tremble, my mouth, my face, my entire body is vibrating in anguish and fury, and as he finally releases my body, I sink against the wall.
His eyes look defeated as he staggers back from me, overwhelmed even, and were I not so filled with loathing for this man, I would pity him. He speaks one more sentence to me on a choked and ragged breath. “Yeah? I knew the second I met you that you eventually would.” And with a defeated and pained shake of his head, he turns and walks away to his bathroom, slamming the door when he disappears within. Moments later, the loud shattering sound of something hitting the wall echoes back to me, along with a ferocious “ fuck !”
I return to my room, sinking to my bed. I stare at the ceiling, unable to move, unable to think. I hit him. I could be fired for hitting him, and were I
But it’s no use. My tears are streaming down my cheeks at her so-generous words and the genuine heart behind them. Her words are validating, but they don’t make the pain disappear, and long after she’s left my room and I’ve cried my tear bank empty, I make the boldest decision of my life. My pain and sadness have morphed to rage, as they always do, and I have no intention of not confronting him. I throw on my oldest and most tattered jean shorts and T-shirt, looking every bit the disgraceful, normal woman I shouldn’t, and I march the eight feet across the hall to his apartment. I knock and wait, and a few seconds later, the door opens.
“What is it?” He’s cold, his eyes dead.
His expression takes me back to the weeks he tormented us both with his frigid attitude, and I blurt out my first thoughts before my restraints kick in. “Were you going to tell me?”
My eyes tear instantly, and he grabs me by the wrist, pulling me harshly inside his apartment. He pushes me up against the wall by the door with his hands at my waist. His face is contorted and pained. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, and he’s fighting himself incredibly while I watch.
When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth. “I don’t owe you any explanation about who I choose to fuck. I thought I made that clear to you.”
And, oh God, how those words pierce straight through my heart. My tears boil over, and my body is wracked with a new wave of furious sobs. My face is scrunched as I fight the emotion, and I can’t escape his grasp as he glares into my face.
I want nothing else than to turn this pain to rage, but my wounded heart overwhelms me, and if my pain isn’t enough, he decides to add one further clarification for me to chew on. “You and I … we’re nothing to one another.”
And there’s my fury. My mouth scrunched up in a mad grimace, I reach up, hitting him hard across the face with my open hand. The slapping sound is loud, and instant shock registers on his face. He pauses for only a second before he grabs my wrists roughly, and swiftly plants them above my head, pinning my body to the wall with his own. He’s seething with fury as he glares down at me.
But I’m done caring what he thinks, and I unleash my accusation on him. “You’re a liar,” I snarl at his face, condemning him with my words as he glares back at me. His jaw is clenching, and his nostrils are flaring in his rage. He won’t break my stare, and he won’t release my body, but I have one last attack, and I unleash it with every last ounce of rage I can muster. “I hate you.” My lips tremble, my mouth, my face, my entire body is vibrating in anguish and fury, and as he finally releases my body, I sink against the wall.
His eyes look defeated as he staggers back from me, overwhelmed even, and were I not so filled with loathing for this man, I would pity him. He speaks one more sentence to me on a choked and ragged breath. “Yeah? I knew the second I met you that you eventually would.” And with a defeated and pained shake of his head, he turns and walks away to his bathroom, slamming the door when he disappears within. Moments later, the loud shattering sound of something hitting the wall echoes back to me, along with a ferocious “ fuck !”
I return to my room, sinking to my bed. I stare at the ceiling, unable to move, unable to think. I hit him. I could be fired for hitting him, and were I
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