Chapter Nineteen
Tasha
Was he angry at me? I wondered as I watched him being carried away by his teammates. A few other players who had done well during the game had also been hoisted on their shoulders.
I wanted to press on, to talk to him about it, but my feet felt rooted to the ground. Had I just imagined that expression of wrath on his face? Had I really offended or hurt him that much by going against his will and having his photograph published in a popular magazine?
Maybe there was another reason. I wanted to believe there was. Or perhaps he was just really tired. I don’t know…
I decided to just send him a text message, saying we could meet at The Den where the celebratory party was going to be held. My pounding heart finally quieted when I got a reply from him, even if it was just a one-word “Okay.”
In just a few minutes, I found myself strolling through the front door of the football players’ favorite hangout place, my heart hammering against my chest. I scanned the crowd for my boyfriend and was surprised to find him standing in one corner, talking to one of the hot waitresses. My heart seemed to drop to the floor, but I mentally scolded myself for jumping to conclusions.
I watched them for a while. This time, he didn’t look so bothered or even the least bit anxious or angry. He was relaxed, a bottle of beer in his hand, lazily chatting with a girl just like what he used to do.
It’s funny how hesitant I was to approach or confront him, when I could so bravely take on different daredevil acts. I was known for my courage in physical endeavors, but deep inside I knew how cowardly I could be when it came to people I cared a lot about.
At least he wasn’t making any move to touch her, even if she kept on sidling closer to him. My heart pumped harder as my blood began to boil. I was fuming inside as I pushed myself to close the distance between us.
He looked up before I could reach them. Then he whispered something to the girl, to which she nodded and immediately left without giving me a glance.
“Hi, Stryder,” I greeted nervously and uncertainly when I came close enough. “Who was that?”
“Nobody,” he answered nonchalantly. “Just a waitress I know.”
“You know? Or you dated?” I couldn’t help asking in a sarcastic tone. I was getting really pissed, and it was becoming almost impossible to hide it.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
I didn’t want to push it, so I changed the topic. Sighing, I took a deep breath and forced a cheerful tone into my voice. “Congratulations on winning the first championship game,” I said with an obligatory smile.
“No thanks to you,” he suddenly muttered, his tone changing in an instant.
I was definitely taken aback. “And what’s that about?”
He took me by the arm, not forcefully, but firmly, leading me out to the back alley where we could have some privacy. “You tell me what it’s about,” he hissed when we were alone.
I took a deep breath, knowing very well what he was talking about. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t think you’d take it this badly. I was just trying to help because I don’t want to see your talent going to waste.”
“But couldn’t you have waited until I was ready?” he said in a sharp tone, obviously struggling not to raise his voice. “Who are you to tell me what I should do with my life?!”
It was like a razor-sharp knife had just seared my heart at that moment. The pain was so intense and sudden that I found myself physically massaging my chest. “It’s not like that at all, Stryder…” I began to say in a weak voice.
“Then what?” he demanded. “Since we got together, you’ve done nothing but try to direct my life toward a path I’m not even prepared to take. You’ve clung to me as if we’re already married, taking charge of my kitchen and changing my grocery brands, appearing in my practices unannounced…”
I couldn’t believe my ears. All this time I had been thinking of how beautiful our relationship was turning out to be and how much we clicked. It greatly hurt to hear him saying those things, putting bad light onto what I thought were extra efforts on my part.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like a prisoner in some way, as if you had no choice or freedom,” I said sarcastically, my tone dripping with growing rage. “I’m sorry because I cared so much about you and you’re just too hardheaded and heartless to appreciate it!”
He opened his mouth to say something, but I butted in again, stepping closer and pointing a finger at his chest. “You don’t deserve me, Stryder. I kept trying to convince myself that you’re not really a jerk who’s just playing around with me, that you’ve already changed, and that you actually care for me and you’re ready to finally commit…”
Tears began streaming down my cheeks. I threw my hands up in the air. “I give up. I was so, so wrong. You’re still you and I guess you’ll never change. And… and this is me, which you don’t appreciate. So what the hell are we doing with each other?”
I stormed off before he could stop me, my feet pounding hard on the ground as I ran fast to the parking lot and got into my car in a rush. All I could think of as I drove home was that I wanted to get as far away as possible.