Gods & Monsters

I put a finger on his lips. “It’s okay. I know. I feel the same. You didn’t hurt me, Abel. It didn’t hurt. You loved me. The only way you know how and I love that. I crave that.”

He kisses the pad of my finger, thumbing my cheek. “I swear I had better plans than fucking you on some stranger’s couch.”

I chuckle. “You did?”

“Yeah. Until three days ago, I was planning to tell your parents about us and then, marry you. And then I was gonna take you to this nice hotel in Chicago and book a room for the night. I was gonna have them put a huge tub of Toblerones on the pillow and some sunflowers.” His brown eyes are ablaze with his love and desire. “I was gonna try to control myself and not be an animal, for once. I was gonna make it special for you.”

My tears are making everything blurry. I feel like I can hardly breathe. My love for him is choking me. My anger is sucking off all the oxygen. Abel gathers me in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings.

It’s not the first time that I think about the sheer unfairness of it all. The sheer unfairness of my mom, my dad. How could they not see our love? How could anyone hate my Abel?

“I don’t need that,” I whisper in his chest, after a while. “I don’t need a fancy bed or a hotel or anything like that. All I need is you. As long as you’re with me, I don’t care about the rest. I never have and I never will. You’re the only one I care about. You’re the only one I trust.”

He winces at the end of my speech.

I don’t understand it. I don’t understand his odd reaction to my words or when he moves away from me. Or when I see his eyes sort of alert and vulnerable, at the same time.

“Abel?”

He ducks his head, runs his fingers through his messy hair. “Lemme clean you up.” He gets up, all naked and bare, leaving me lying on the couch.

I can’t even take the time to admire his muscled form because something occurs to me. I haven’t even asked him about his job. Was he calling me to tell the news before I so completely hijacked the conversation?

“Hey, how was it? Did you like it? Did you like the job?”

He doesn’t stop to answer me. Buck naked, he pads over to the bathroom and then, I hear the tap running. I sit up and gather my clothes, feeling bereft.

What just happened?

One second we were talking and everything was fine but now something feels off. Putting my dress back on, I go after him and find him emerging out of the bathroom, holding a wet cloth.

“I was going to clean you up,” he says, frowning.

“I don’t want you to clean me up. What’s —”

“It’s my job to take care of you.” There’s a wealth of irritation in his tone as he cuts me off, and that gets my back up.

“No. It’s not. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” I march over to him and try to snatch the cloth out of his hand, but he doesn’t let me have it. “Let go.”

He grits his teeth. “No.”

I tug the fabric but it’s useless. Irritated, I look up at his stony face. “What’s happening? Why are you being a jerk all of a sudden?”

“I’m trying to take care of you but you won’t let me,” he repeats.

“This is so stupid. Why are we…” I study his hard expression, his angry eyes, and I realize how insensitive I’m being. Well, he’s being insensitive too, but we’ll get to that later.

It’s important for him to be able to take care of me. Isn’t that why he wanted to hold off having sex with me the other night? Because he wasn’t sure if he’d have a job or if he’d be able to provide for me. Maybe it’s one of those things men get really broken up about.

I let go of the cloth and step even closer to him. “Are you okay? Is it… Is it about the job? You know, it doesn’t matter to me if you didn’t like it or if you, you know, didn’t get it. Maybe it just wasn’t right for you. For us. I wouldn’t—”

His jaw clenches. “Job’s mine if I want it.”

It takes me a second to understand his meaning, and then a smile is breaking out on my lips. “Really?”

Abel jerks out a nod. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God. That’s great news. See? I told you. I told you you’d have a job.” I hug him but he doesn’t hug me back. “Abel, what is it? What’s wrong? Do you not like it?”

There’s a defiance in his tone when he replies, “I like it. I think it’s perfect for me.”