76
“Fuck you!” It’s out of my mouth before I even really contemplate screaming at my boss, and I’m out of the car. I’m raging. My eyes are stinging and blurry. I hate that he makes me fall apart like this. He knows how to rip my head open, and I hate him for it, hate the way he strips me of the control I’ve built up over the years.
He’s fast out after me, spinning me around as he pulls me into him. I try to fight, but he envelopes me and buries his face in my hair, holding me in a vice-like grip so I can’t struggle free. A bear hug to stop me from escaping.
“I’m sorry, Emma, stop. Emma, I’m sorry.” His voice is raw and strained. I’m fighting but losing, as he knows how to hold me so I can’t move, my body wrapped in his, almost suffocating me. He hugs me tighter, and I slump, anger dissipating when pinned to him this way, in so much emotional pain. He’s breathing into my hair, its warmth on my scalp. Overwhelmed, tears run down my cheeks as he slowly breaks me.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Emma.” His voice is sad now, close to my ear, his crazy mood taking a new direction again. I relax into his hold, no longer struggling, unable to hate him when he’s this way with me and sounding this sorry when I am this upset.
“I don’t want to fight either.” I swallow a sob, slumping into him in a bid to let him heal my heart.
“Maybe we should go back to the boat?” He sounds tired. I don’t know how to navigate this version of Jake; it’s more moods than I’m used to. It’s exhausting, but I put it down to the scene with Hunter and the aftereffects of too much alcohol, lack of sleep, and stress. This isn’t him.
“Maybe,” I whisper; at least there, I can go to my room and
get some distance, some perspective. Let him alone to get a grip on his roller-coaster mood swings.
“No,” he snaps, surprising me again with a U-turn in attitude. The way he says it causes me to bristle and look up. A sudden mood shift, again?
What the hell is going on with him?
He pulls away and stalks back to the car, stopping at the hood and leaning down to tense his arms against it, broody and aggressive in his stance, unapproachable. I just stare.
“I can’t do this, Emma,” he snaps, his gaze steady on the hood of the low, sleek car. For a moment, I think he may even hit it.
“Do what?” I’m beyond confused. I think A body snatcher has invaded jake. He’s all over the place, and I can’t keep up. I wipe my tears and pull myself together.
“This! Us!” He waves his hand exasperated, and I’m dumbfounded; I blink at him. I don’t actually know what else to do. There is no us! He glares at me haughtily, most likely because I’m still silent, and frowns. “You drive me crazy, and not in a good way,” he snorts, facing the car again, his body emanating erratic, manic signals.
“I do?” My voice is tiny and unsure like I’m walking on eggshells with him, yet he’s accusing me of driving him crazy!
Well, it’s goddamn mutual.
He sighs again, and his face tenses.
“You frustrate me on so many levels,” he carries on, although he’s lost all conviction in his tone.
Likewise.
“Sorry,” I murmur sarcastically, rolling my eyes at his back while trying to process everything I am feeling.
Yes, Jake, I can do moody and sardonic too.
He throws me an unamused look over his shoulder, and I glance down to twiddle my fingers evasively. He’s sighing again; I can hear him kicking the car wheel, funneling some of his rage onto the rubber, making me flinch.
“Why do you never talk about your childhood?” His tone changes again; a new tactic or a new mood? My head is dizzy with this swinging door version of him.
“What?” I pale, my face swept with icy cold, and my hands pause. My nerves flutter from low down at a topic I do not want to follow through on. “There’s nothing to talk about. You know the highlights,” I respond drily. The urge to clamp down and stop this direction of conversation kicks in; there’s a mild warning in the back of my brain.
“I know bits and pieces, Emma, mostly from getting you drunk.” He glares at me, and it’s almost like another accusation.
Jesus!
“Where is this going?” I plead. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to have this type of psycho-babbling conversation with Jake, especially when he’s so weird and pissy.
How did we even get to this? Why is he so obsessed over this? Freaking Jekyll & Hyde Jake and his neck-breaking mood swings.
“It hurt you.” His eyes come to rest on me, his face now endearing and open; all anger is gone. But it only makes me want to cry, so I look away, crossing my arms around my body protectively. His expression claws at my heart.
“It’s the past, and it should stay there.” There’s an intense sting in my eyes, but he won’t make me cry again. My heart aches with everything he is trying to pull out of me.
What’s wrong with him? Is this what he’s after? Tears, confessions?
I move away and turn my back on him; it’s better when I can’t see him, can’t see that look in his eye.
“Your mom? You don’t talk about her much either,” he pushes, his voice gentle. Every part of me screams, “Leave me alone; let me be,” but I hold it all in and close my eyes, my insides clawing desperately to escape this torment.
Just hold it together, Emma. Take deep, calming breaths.
“She’s my mother; what else is there to say?” I say it coldly, hoping he understands that he should back off.
“Tell me about her.” He ignores the silent plea and decides to go in for the kill.
Thanks, Jake.
I’m wary of his crazy mood swings; I don’t want angry and irrational Jake back. I grit my teeth against the urge to tell him to mind his own business and try to appease his curiosity instead.
“My mother is a sucker for a sob story.” My voice grates every word out painfully, laced with anger and warning. “That’s about all there is to her.” So back off.
“She has bad taste in men?” His voice is closer, so I walk further off, slightly putting the distance back between us. I'm not too fond of these kinds of conversations, someone trying to lay me bare and uncover my pain. Every part of me is on high alert, my anger simmering to something more heart-wrenching.
“That’s an understatement,” I snap, shielding my despair with anger.
Control, Emma!
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