Clash

“You, Luce,” he said, his voice tired. “There may not be a shortage of Adrianas out there, but there’s only one you. And that’s the person I want to give myself to.”

He was saying all the rights things and, in truth, he hadn’t given me one reason to doubt him since we’d cleared up the whole Holly and little Jude situation, but I wasn’t ready to be appeased. Not after the shit load of ammunition Adriana had fired my way all day.

“You let her do your laundry, Jude,” I began, wishing a magical clamp would appear so I could fasten it over my mouth. “She cleans your room. You lead her into a damn room on your arm with hundreds of people watching.” My voice was running away with me, filling the dark room with its insecurity. “She runs her fingers over your clean, pressed underwear. Damn it, Jude!”

I was taking it all out on him. Everything I’d been bottling up today, when it would have been more constructive to find a dance floor and give it a run for its money.

His head twisted my way and whether it was the darkness in the room or the actual color of his eyes, they looked black. “Did you not hear what I just said to you?” he said, his teeth clenched together. “Did you miss when I just professed all I want is you? Even when you’re acting like some crazy ass girlfriend?” Narrowing his eyes at me, he hoisted himself up.

“Yeah, I heard that,” I answered, leaping up beside him. “So I’m your girl. I’m the only girl you want to make moan in the bathroom. Yeah, I get it.” My words were hurting him‌—‌I watched as each one etched a deeper wrinkle into his face. “But you let her take care of you like she’s your old lady.” Grabbing a handful of Jude’s freshly made bed, I tore the covers off. “You might not want her intimately, but you let her into your life intimately.”

Jude stared at me, his eyes narrowed like he didn’t recognize the person standing before him. “Fine,” he said, ripping the blankets curled in my hand away and tearing the rest of them off the bed. Rolling them into a ball, he tossed them across the room.

“Happy?” he asked rhetorically as he marched across the room to his dresser. Sliding the top one open, he ripped it out of its spot, carrying it over to the window. Sliding the window open, Jude held the dresser drawer outside, tipping its contents over. His clean, folded boxers parachuted to the ground below. The drawer followed behind them.

“Happy now?” he asked again, raising his brows at me where I stood frozen beside his bed. Lunging across the room again, he ripped the second drawer from the dresser. Rushing back over to the window, he spilled his shirts to the ground. The drawer splintered when it hit the ground.

“Happy yet?” This time he didn’t look at me, he just ran across the room, tore the last drawer out, and this time, when he reached the window, he hurled the whole thing out. The sound of it shattering echoed back into the room.

Spinning around, he looked at me. His chest was rising and falling hard, his eyes were flashing‌—‌he was lost. “What else, Luce? What else do you want me to bust to shit?” he hollered, waiting for me. “Huh? Surely there’s something else I can break to prove my love to you. What is it?” He was in a frenzy, as toeing the ledge as I’d seen him. All because of me. I loved knowing I had power over him, but not this kind of power.

“Jude,” I whispered, barely able to make a sound. “Stop.”

“Stop? Why?” he yelled, extending his arms and spinning around the room. “I’m proving my love for you. So come on, Luce. What else can I ruin so you’ll be happy?”

“Nothing,” I whispered, biting my lip.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I repeated, looking at him. “This isn’t what I meant, Jude. Why do you fly off the cuff anytime I question you?”

The skin between his brows creased. “Why do you?”

That was a question I didn’t have an answer to. I took him in, observing what my jealousy and insecurity had reduced him to. I was supposed to be the person that brought him comfort and supported him, but tonight, I’d done everything but. A tear escaped my eye before I knew one had formed.

Jude’s eyes narrowed in on it, watching it fall down the side of my face. One side of his face pulled tight. “Tell me what to do, Luce. Tell me what you want from me. Because I’ll do it. I’d do anything,” he said, putting his arms behind his neck and watching me like he was afraid I was going to disappear. “You want me to tell Adriana to go screw herself and never so much as look her way again? No problem. You want me to never talk to another woman for the rest of my life? I’ll do it.” Crossing the room, he stopped in front of me, grabbing the sides of my arms. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.” He held me, staring at me as he waited for my answer.

I didn’t have one.

“You’re all I’ve got, Luce. I’ll do anything not to lose you,” he said, his scar pinching into his cheek. “Just tell me what I’m doing wrong and I’ll fix it.”

This man had been through enough. Why was I making him trudge through more shit?

“You’re not doing anything wrong, Jude,” I said, swallowing. And he wasn’t. As boyfriends went, he was the dream. As companions went, he had the makings of a lifelong one. “It’s me. I’m doing all the wrong tonight.” I pressed my hands into the sides of his face, trying to rub away the lines wrinkling it. “I saw Adriana all wild for you and I let my insecurities turn me into a crazy person. I trust you. I don’t trust her.”