Page 86 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
His big cyan eyes—how many times had I gotten lost in those blue depths?
The lush, bowed curve of his lips. How many times had I suckled on them, dragging their velvety softness between my teeth? How many times had I lavished their petal-soft caresses on my skin?
I’d loved this man. Loved him with everything I had. My heart, my soul, my mind,everything. I had been so full of Jackson, I’d almost forgotten Pippi existed.
But now, as I stared at him in the small, cozy foyer of our vacation cottage, I didn’t know if I truly loved him anymore. I didn’t know if I was so desperate to hold on to what wehad because I still cared, or if I’d simply spent so many years building a life around this man that I didn’t know who I was without him.
When those realizations hit, they hurt. A deep, gnawing sort of ache that drilled into every bone in my body, and left me shaking, bleeding,broken.
The tears snuck up on me, oozing out before I could stop them.
“You’re crying? Unbelievable.” Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “You started this, Pippi!”
“I know, I?—”
“You’re the one who threw the fucking insultsat me.”
“Iknow,Jackson. I’m?—”
“You know what, no. We’renotdoing this now.” He bulldozed past me, shoving his shoulder into mine. Hard. Almost enough to hurt.
“Jackson—” I reached for him.
He shrugged me away.
“Jackson, please. Let’s take a second here. To cool off. A-and”—a hiccup rattled my chest—“I think we should talk.”
“Why?” he snarled at me. “So you can tell me what a big, stupid leech I am?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Jackson, please—” I bit off, flinching, when he stormed back toward me.
And in that half a second, as he crossed the room, his face contorted into an ugly snarl, and his rage struck my heart in big, sizzling zaps of lightning, I almost wondered if he’d hit me.
He didn’t.
But he put his face right into mine, letting me see what my words had done to him, as he hissed, “We’renotdoing this. Not here. Not now. If you don’t want to go to dinner,fine. Whatever.I’ll tell them you’re sick or tired or too embarrassed to be seen with your leech of a boyfriend.”
“I’ll go to dinner, Jackson, I never said I wouldn’t.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t. Because if you go, you’ll complain about something and make me feel like the bad guy. So I’ll go.Alone.You can get room service. Or hook up with the two kooky dingbats you love so much. I don’t fucking care.” With a disgruntled sigh, he stomped into the bedroom.
The bathroom door slammed. Hard. With a resoundingSMACKthat shuddered every wall in the cottage.
I flinched, wrapped my arms more securely around myself, and waited until I heard the trickle of the shower running before I sank to the floor.
We’ll be okay.
People fight all the time. Bigger fights than we had. Meaner. And they cool off and make up.
We’ll be okay.
But my parents fought too, hadn’t they? And they were never okay.
We’re different.
