A Future Fight （1）

A Future Fight(1)

His bedroom door slamming shut was a recently familiar sound to which she'd grown accustomed. It shocked her that it was still on the hinges, to be honest. Tonight's trigger events resulted in a heated argument on the first part of the freezing walk back from the club, silence for the second part, and then this.

Whatever this was.

She tossed her phone onto the counter, crossed her arms, and waited, wondering if she would get the silent treatment, the abs, or both. Right on cue, his door flew open. Seconds later, he was standing in front of her, now shirtless.

Don't look at him.

Don't look at him.

"Amara…"

"Ry, I'm not doing this with you right now," she asserted instinctively, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. She'd known from the moment she'd met those eyes with her own that they held the potential to be dangerous in ways for which she couldn't have possibly prepared.

And then, of course, there was the matter of his abs.

"I was out of line. I'm sorry. Can we just talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about."

He closed his eyes and leaned against the refrigerator, one arm up over his head. "I think we do."

"You know what happens when we ‘talk', Ryan."

She grabbed a water bottle off the countertop and began to fill it up at the fridge where he was leaning. It was about halfway full before she felt his other arm slip around her hips, his chest pressing against her back, and his chin resting on top of her head. "Ryan, don't."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't love him, Ryan."

"I love you, Amara."

"No, you don't. You're just drunk."

"Tell me how to fix this. I wanna fix this."

"This isn't yours to fix, Ryan." She capped the bottle, wriggled out of his grasp, grabbed her phone, and headed for her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She flung herself onto her bed and lit up her screen, where a single text awaited.

J: You still coming over?

And now, on top of everything else, she had to deal with this.

She set her phone on the nightstand, sighed, and pulled the blanket up over her head. Though desperate to fall asleep and forget that this whole night happened, it was impossible; tonight's argument kept playing on repeat.

And it had gotten ugly.

"Hey, wait up!" he called, jogging to catch up with her after she'd tried unsuccessfully to sneak home from the bar. "Um, so what the hell was that tonight? Still just friends?"

She turned around to face him, maintaining her pace and distance in front of him. "You know, I'm surprised you noticed anything at all since you had a thousand girls literally groping you all night long."

"They're fans, Amara. That's a little different."

"Fans." She laughed bitterly. "Right. Everything with you is always a little different, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is a little different, just like the way you moaned on his cock versus mine. Or are we just not gonna talk about that because it makes you uncomfortable?"

As difficult as it was, she knew better than to give him the reaction he wanted and just kept walking. "Mar, come on, stop. Hey!" he snapped, clutching her arm a little too hard and pulling her towards him. "So, was this happening the whole time I was out in Worcester?"

"Ry, don't."

"It was, wasn't it? Are you in love with him?"

"No, but I'm about 99 percent sure you are."

He rolled his eyes and tightened his grip. "Stop it. I'll ask you again: are you in love with him?"

She peeled back his hand and shoved it away. "You want me to say yes, don't you?"

"If it's the truth, then yeah, I guess I do."

"The truth. Like that matters."

"It does to me. Especially when it has to do with you and him."

"You're way too obsessed with what goes on between me and him. Why?"

"Because you keep telling me you guys are just friends when I know the truth. I wanna hear it from you."

"Fine. You want the truth?" She hesitated. "We're just friends who hook up. A lot."

He laughed bitterly. "Right. It couldn't be more obvious that you're in love with him."

"Grow the fuck up, Ryan!" she yelled, catching the attention of some drunken passersby, who immediately began to cheer. "You wouldn't know the first fucking thing about being in love. And newsflash: you and me? We're not together anymore. Not that we ever should have been in the first place. But we're not, and you need to accept that and move on."

She stormed off, but he followed. "It's kinda hard to move on when you constantly lead me on. Maybe you should stop messing with my fucking head if you don't want me."

She turned around to face him. "I don't want you? Are you out of your mind? I haven't stopped wanting you since the second I saw you. This has nothing to do with whether I want you."

"Then why did you give up on me? On us?"

"You know why, Ryan. Don't play dumb."

"He's three years younger than me!" he yelled.

"And I'm not with him either!" she yelled back.

"It's just strange, you know? We invite him into our bed, we break up immediately after, then I come back from Worcester, and suddenly you're making out with him in the middle of a club."

"You invited him into our bed. Don't ever forget that. Not me. You. I agreed to play within your little boundaries, and you changed the rules. And I think we both know why you changed them. You're just not ready to admit it yet."

He reached up and grabbed her face with both of his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "Yeah, it's because we both know you were gonna end up on his cock either way. I just got out ahead of the heartbreak…babe." She pushed him away. "Oh, sorry, I forgot. That's his ‘lil pet name for you. What should I call you? Come on, you're a writer. Is there a word for a cold-hearted bitch who broke my heart but continues to shit all over it for fun?"

She shook her head, disgusted, and stormed off again. "You're fucked up, Baylor!" she shouted.

"You think?" he yelled, chasing after her. "Yeah, ‘cause you've got your shit together, Miss ‘I'm divorced and prey on younger guys because I can't get anyone my own age.' The younger and stupider, the easier they fall for your bullshit lies. Right, Amara?"

She stopped, whipped her head around, and glared at him. His eyes were waiting for hers; they always were. And for the briefest of moments, she caved, allowing herself to see in them the guy she'd almost instantly and stupidly fallen for over the past few months instead of this stranger who stood before her now.

And no matter how hard she tried to get past it, every time she looked at him, it was always front and center: the persistent, agonizing fact that he was 18 years younger, and how much that age gap complicated just about everything between them.

As much as he'd hated it, his anger often begged him to say something hurtful to her, and he wished to God he was strong enough to tell it no. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, knowing he'd taken it too far.

"Fuck you," she hissed. "You wanna bring my divorce into this? You wanna say hurtful shit? Nice to meet you, Ryan. At least I'm not some pathetic slut who's completely incapable of love. And for the record: I don't ‘prey' on anyone. They come willingly. You'd know better than anyone."

"Oh, that's rich. The woman who only bangs guys half her age calling me a pathetic slut. What's next for you, Amara? You gonna start hanging outside the high school during dismissal?"

"You're disgusting."

"And you're a fucking liar. Nice to meet you, Amara. I may not have been the best boyfriend in the world, but I never," he said, grabbing the sides of her face and forcing her to look at him, "I never lied to you about how I felt. Ever. I know there's something more going on between you two."

She threw her hands up. "And what if there is, huh? Then what, Ryan?"

"Then Amara? You can both go fuck yourselves."

They walked back home, fighting the freezing wind the entire time. And though it was in complete silence, when he reached his arm around her and rested it on her shoulder, she didn't push it away.

She groaned, flopping angrily onto her side and squeezing her eyes shut, wondering how the hell they'd become this obscure version of themselves, and more importantly, if things could ever go back to the way they were before.

It couldn't have been more than a minute later when she got up and went to her bedroom door, sensing that he was there. Before she could even get it all the way open, his hands were around the back of her head, with hers clutching either side of his torso as their lips mashed together chaotically.

Within seconds, he had her flat against the mattress, pinned under him, his hips rocking slowly into hers. She knew they couldn't keep doing this; they were on course to destroy each other, but she'd reached that pivotal point where it was beyond her capabilities to tell him no.

He ran a hand up to her throat. Squeezing gently, he moved his other hand between her legs, then whispered into her ear, "You know you're always gonna end up right back here with me."

And as far as she knew, he was right.