Clash

Falling to my knees in front of him, I unscrewed the lid from one of the bottles. “Here,” I said, lifting it to his lips, “drink.”

It wasn’t a request.

He didn’t move; his head just hung there, his fists clenching and unclenching over his thighs.

“Jude,” I said, lifting his chin until we were at eye level. “Drink this. Please.”

His eyes were almost as hollow as his embrace had felt in the hall. Something twisted in my gut, something that ran deeper than anything else had.

He parted his lips and I lifted the bottle to his mouth and tilted it so a steady stream would fall in.

He swallowed, keeping his eyes locked on mine, gulping down everything I was giving him until the bottle was empty.

I had to look away, because I couldn’t look into those eyes any longer. The gray had drained out of them, leaving nothing but black behind.

“Better?” I asked, tossing the bottle to the side and handing him the next.

He nodded, looking like he was about to pull me to him.

“Good,” I said, lifting my hand and slapping him across the cheek. I hadn’t realized I was going to do it, but it felt damn good.

At least it felt good until his eyes flinched closed as a red hand blossomed over his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I said, leaning towards him and inspecting his face.

I’d just hit Jude. Hard. And I hadn’t even known I was about to do it.

Hang on because this roller coaster had reached the summit and was about to race straight down.

“Jude, god,” I said, fussing over his face. I’d been reduced to an emotional, instinctual monster. “I’m sorry.”

“Do it again,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

“What?” I said, hoping I’d heard him wrong or was mistaking what he meant. “No.”

“Do it”‌—‌opening his eyes, they locked onto mine‌—‌”again.”

This roller coaster was going down. All the way down. “No,” I said again, wondering if my slap had knocked something loose.

“Damn it it, Luce,” he hollered, grabbing my wrist as I tried to scoot away, “hit me again!”

“No!” I was shouting now too. “Let me go, Jude!”

“Hit me!” he yelled, raising my hand above him and pounding it down against his face. “Again!” Grabbing my other hand, he flattened it and drove it into his other cheek.

“Stop!” I cried, trying to pull my wrists free of his grasp. His hands formed liked vices over mine, not letting me go. He drove the other palm into his face, and then the other. “Stop,” I whimpered, my throat contracting around my sobs.

He didn’t. Hit after hit, Jude slapped my hands against his face until they were tingling.

“Jude, stop,” I cried, my sobs rocking me. His cheeks were red, capillaries broken on the surface. “Please.”

Then, as suddenly as he’d started, he freed my hands, letting them fall back into my lap. They stung, like hundreds of needles were poking at the surface, but what I felt inside hurt the worst.

I loved the broken man kneeling in front of me‌—‌loved him like I never would another. But I couldn’t be with him. For plenty of reasons, this latest episode the most recent.

“You feel better?” he said, falling back, using my bed as a backrest.

“No,” I said, wiping my face with the back of my coat, looking down into my open hands like I couldn’t believe what they were capable of.

“Me neither,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face.

His breathing had grown shorter, and the parts of his face that weren’t red were white and clammy. I’d never seen Jude so frail‌—‌never imagined he could ever be so.

“Here,” I said, tossing the chocolate bar at him. “Eat that.”

“I thought you didn’t care,” he said, turning the bar over in his hand, inspecting it.

“I don’t,” I lied, settling into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Just eat it. I don’t want you passing out because it would take a half dozen guys to move you.”

One corner of his mouth lifted as he unwrapped the bar. Breaking a chunk off, he tossed it at me. “You look like you need sustenance as much as I do,” he said, breaking off another piece. “I’ll eat if you eat.”

I sighed, knowing he was right, as much as I didn’t want him to be.

“Fine.” Taking a bite, I let the chocolate melt in my mouth.

Lifting his piece at me, he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed it, staring at me as if he was contemplating his next move. “I didn’t screw Adriana, Luce.”

I almost choked on the bit of chocolate still melting in my mouth. He wasn’t going to ease our way into this conversation. He was charging the red flag like a bull.

“Sure you didn’t,” I said, sliding my shoes off and tossing them across the room. “She just needed to borrow your shower. While you snoozed na**d on the bed. With an empty bottle of tequila in hand.”

The muscles of his neck tightened, his jaw following. “I didn’t screw her, Luce,” he repeated.

I laughed one clipped note. “You were drunk, Jude. Shit faced drunk,” I said, trying not to visualize the whole scene in my mind again. “How the hell would you know?”

I was insulted that he’d led with the whole denial act. Jude knew I wasn’t a gullible girl and the fact that he was treating me like one now was just downright insulting.