I can’t go through this again. The guilt stings. I hurt Rosie, and I’ll be dead before I knowingly hurt any other child I’m blessed with. And I’m pissed off. Pissed off Ava’s made me lose my control when she knows damn well how hard I’ve fought to keep it. When she knows why I’m treating her with care.
I stalk to the door, ready to face this head-on before I blow up, every inch of my body rolling with my stressed breathing. She’s on the end of the bed, her arms hugging her knees.
She looks as guilty as I feel.
Good. I’m not alone.
What the fuck were we thinking?
“I’ve been taking your pills,” I say quickly, struggling to get the words out, not because I’m reluctant to say it—this ends now—but because my jaw is ticking harder with each second that passes.
I detect only a slight widening of her eyes. Like... shock? Surely not. Her shoulders lift a fraction, making her sit up straight. But that’s all I get.
“I said,” I grate, wondering why the fuck she’s staring at me so blankly. “I’ve been taking your pills.” I think I just need a reaction now. Something. Anything.
I can hear my own breathing. Feel my own shakes. But from Ava? Nothing.
“Ava,” I yell, stepping forward. “For fuck’s sake, woman, I’ve been taking your fucking pills.” My palms slide onto my head and rest there. Come on, give me something. Let’s talk about this. Get it off our chests. “I ne?—”
She moves so fast, she’s a blur, and I back up as she flies at me, stopping directly in front of me. I stare down at her, searching her eyes, seeing anger, fire, and disbelief.
Which just makes me feel nothing but disbelief too. She didn’t click? But she asked me outright. What the fu?—?
Her hand collides with my face, snapping my head to the side, jarring my neck. The burn is instant and intense, the sound ear-piercing, and I blink, shocked, keeping my head and eyes low, not wanting to see the rage in her. Rage I deserve.
But I must face my wrongs and my fears. I don’t know what I expected from this conversation, but the blinding anger pouring from her was not it. I’ve never seen her like this. I slowly, cautiously, lift my head, and the moment I see her eyes, I know another is coming. She doesn’t know what to do, what to say, so she’s lashing out. She doesn’t want to hurt me. She’s not that kind of human.
I lift my hand quickly and catch her flying palm just before it meets my already flaming cheek, but she wrenches herself free and comes at me with both hands, this time balled, hitting me over and over on my chest, pound after pound as she screams and yells.
And I stare at her, taking it, shocked to my core.
I really have made her crazy. Turned her from a level-headed young woman into a deranged, irrational female.
Irrational? Brother, you’ve decided her future. Trapped her.
But how can she be trapped if she wants to be with me?
I don’t know how long I stand in the middle of our bedroom, naked, being hit repeatedly. My upper body is numb.
Ava eventually gasps, pushing both fists into my pecs, her head coming to meet my chest. She’s drained. I’m about to pull her in for a hug, hold her, apologize, when she thrusts me away and bursts into tears, trembling.
I’m back to staring again. Back to being shocked. I prefer being used as a punchbag than seeing Ava cry.
“Why?” she screams at me, arms flailing.
“You were ignoring it, Ava,” I say calmly, staying exactly where I am, respecting her need for space. “I need you to acknowledge this.” And she’s refused. “I needed to spike a reaction from you.” But this? This, I never anticipated.
“I don’t mean why you’ve told me,” she yells, sniveling, roughly wiping her runny nose. “I knew! I mean why the fuck did you do it?”
Why? Isn’t it obvious? It’s not justified, I realize that, but she knows me. She knows how intense my feelings are for her. She knows I will do anything to keep her. But still, again, nothing can justify it. “You make me crazy.” I gulp, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You make me do crazy shit, Ava.”
“So it’s my fault?” she asks, outraged. “My pills started going missing only days after you took me.”
Took her? She makes it sound like I kidnapped her. That she didn’t want me. But I can’t challenge her. I have to let her vent, let her say her piece, and take it like a man.
Her red-rimmed eyes pour with tears. I can’t watch. “I know,” I whisper, staggering back a step when she charges into me and roughly yanks my face to hers. She looks psychotic. It’s as if I’ve dislodged a blockage to her brain that was stopping her from considering exactly what’s happened.
“You don’t get to evade your reasons for this,” she hisses in my face. “You’ve taken it upon yourself to dictate my life.” Her fingers apply pressure on my face, and it hurts. Everything hurts in this moment. “I don’t want a fucking baby,” she screams. And that hurts the most. She doesn’t want kids? “This is my body! You don’t get to make these decisions for me. Tell me why the fucking hell you did this to me!”