“Leah, please say something.”
“Why is it always me that has to do all the talking? You were coming to see me for a reason. I'd like to know what it is.”
Antagonistic, it is!
“Why are you making this so hard?”
“Because,” I said, placing the ticket on the bed, “for the last eight weeks I’ve been tormenting myself over my feelings for you, thinking I was stupid for believing that you cared about me, and trying to get you out of my head.”
“What do you think I've been through over the last few weeks?”
“Knowing you, I'd say, several fan girls and any remaining staff members you hadn't already screwed!”
Something changed in his eyes, like he’d shut down from the conversation. “Forget it.”
He turned to leave and I let out a mocking laugh. “How typical. I hit a nerve and you walk out on me!”
Turning back, he snarled, “I haven't so much as looked at another woman since you left! And that's not because of a lack of offers, it's because I wasn't interested!”
“Oh, that's why you were coming to see me? In the hope I might 'do you a favour?’”
“Give me a break! I'm not here to have sex with you. I wanted to talk but you obviously don't want to so I'm going back to bed.”
He started to walk away again and I knew that if I let him go this time, it really would be over.
“I'm sorry,” I said, as he reached the door, and he stopped without turning around. “I don't want you to go, but if you stay you'll have to deal with my anger. I can't pretend not to be angry when I am.”
He turned to face me again. I gave him an apologetic smile and sat down on the bed.
“Leah, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the last time I saw you in America. I have a lot to apologise for, but that was the worst.”
At the mere thought of that night, my chest began to ache with suppressed grief. Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered the humiliation of being undressed, then rejected.
“You won't hear any arguments from me about that. I’ve never felt so cheap and used.”
He hung his head, and the way his shoulders sagged told me that it had been just as painful for him. He came towards me, and sat beside me on the bed.
“I wasn't using you. If all I’d wanted was to sleep with you, I would have.”
“If you weren't going to, why did you even …” I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence.
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“I don't know how to explain it. I didn't want to be at your leaving party, so when you came into the bar and you looked so incredible, it surprised me. I didn't think you'd want to see me.”
“You must’ve known I'd want to say goodbye.”
“How? We weren't speaking.”
I took a moment to process his words. For all his bravado, and his enormous ego, did he really not understand how I felt about him? I forced myself to look into his eyes for just a second, but it was enough. Enough to tell me that he hadn't understood. Sure, he understood the physical attraction – but that was as far as his comprehension went.
Or maybe as far as he would allow it to go.
“Why didn't you talk to me?” I asked. “You could have bought me a drink and we could have talked.”
“Leah, I was drunk out of my mind. I couldn't have had a conversation with you without hurting you. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I wanted you so much, but I knew you were leaving the next morning and I-” he trailed off.
“What?”