Page 120 of Bad at Love
“Laz,” I say softly, swallowing hard, not wanting to bring anything up, wanting to keep pretending. I’ve askedhim a few times “what’s wrong, is anything wrong?” and every time he tells me he’s fine and then he clams up. If I really push it, he snaps at me. Makes me feel like I’m being a psycho girlfriend again. Makes me feel like I’m one of his exes, the ones that would push and push and push at him to get something out of him.
I don’t want to be them but I can completely see their point.
“Laz,” I say again, louder, and come over to him, placing my hand on top of the camera. “Talk to me.”
He glances up, meets my eyes for a moment and I’m surprised to see there’s a new version of him, like someone else is operating his body. I can’t see his soul anymore.
Maybe you never could. Maybe you saw what you wanted to see.
“Yeah, it all looks great,” he says absently.
“Not what I meant and you know it.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You need to cut this bullshit.”
His head snaps up. Now I have his attention. “I beg your pardon?”
I almost laugh at how British he sounds right now. When he’s annoyed or when he’s fucking me, his accent thickens like mad.
“Bullshit.Thisis bullshit.”
He raises a brow, straightening up. His eyes are hard, jaw firm. “Bullshit? What are you going on about?”
“Us,” I tell him, throwing my arms out. “This. What happened to us? Weeks ago we were fine and now…now, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. We don’t even have sex anymore. You barely touch me anymore.”
He clears his throat, looks off toward the hills. “I’m going through some things.”
“If you’re going through some things then you need totalk to me about it. You need to communicate with me. This is what couples do Laz, this is what healthy couples do.”
He doesn’t say anything. His fists ball up and then release.
What the fuck is going on with him?
“Lazarus,” I say with deliberation. “You need to talk to me. You can’t do with me what you did with all your other girlfriends. They didn’t deserve it and I certainly don’t either.”
“You’re right,” he says quietly, eyes still avoiding mine. “You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve any of this.”
“Then talk to me!” I cry out, smacking his arm. “Say something! Tell me what’s on your mind. If we can’t talk to each other about everything, we have nothing. Do you understand? We have nothing.”
“Then we have nothing,” he says.
“What?”
Everything that’s warm and bright inside me comes to fade.
He finally brings his dark eyes around to meet mine and I swear to god they’re watering with emotion.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
My stomachsinks.
“Laz…” I whisper.
“You want me to talk to you about what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling?” he says. “The thing I’m going through?”
I gulp, hesitating before I nod because now I’m not so sure.
“Oh fuck,” he says, shaking his head, pressing the tips of his fingers into his forehead. “I can’t believe this…I can’t.”
