Beyond His Control (His 2)

“You need me as much as I need you,” he says.

Why does the truth always have to hurt so much?

“I want to … I want to love you, but I can’t,” I say, shaking my head. I pause as I contemplate what to say, then suck in a breath. “Why can’t you stay here?”

When he doesn’t reply, I turn my head. His face has gone completely white.

“Stay here with me,” I mutter with genuine hope.

When he continues to stare at me, I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away before I can touch him. With a darkened face, he gets up from the bed and pulls up his pants, zipping up, before walking off.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He doesn’t even reply, doesn’t say another word before slamming the front door shut behind him.

Just like that … he came, and he went.

And the apartment is left as though he was never even here to begin with.

But I remember.

Noah

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

One minute, I’m making love to her, wishing she could be mine forever without anything between us, and then the next, I’m running like a coward with my tail tucked between my legs.

All because of that one sentence.

Stay with me here.

I wish she hadn’t uttered those words. I wish we could’ve stayed in her bed in eternal ignorant bliss, pretending everything was fine and the world was whole.

But it’s not.

Even though we were both born in the community, we walked a different path in life, and it separated us irrevocably. She prefers to stay here, and I could never.

I don’t belong here. I never have.

The only time I ever came here was with my father on his trips, and even then, it always felt surreal. This world feels like an unnatural one, one I don’t understand.

I can’t stay. This place agitates me, confuses me, and turns me into something I’m not.

I’m a patriarch. A man with a destiny. A goal.

Staying here would mean giving that all up, and I’m not willing to do that.

My legs are restless as I pace around my hotel room, wondering what I’m even doing. I came to get her back, and here I am, struggling so hard. Instead, I let my dick do the thinking.

She makes it so hard to restrain myself with those pretty eyes and that beautiful mind of hers. Every time I touch her, she craves more. She wants to be held, to be subdued, and to be fucked into oblivion. And I give in to that wish so easily … because I want her more than anything.

Because she’s my baby’s mother and I’d sacrifice anything for them.

I even relinquished control over the situation just so she could feel loved and wanted, and I could mend her broken heart. But even I can’t bridge this divide between us.

Why do I have to choose a side? Why can’t I have both?

Fuck!

I punch the mirror with my bare hand and only realize after the fact what I did. The mirror shatters into pieces, which tumble to the floor. Blood drips down my fist, and I stare at the droplets in dismay.

I should be more careful, but a storm’s raging in my heart and head that I can’t contain. I’ve never felt so out of check as though my mind’s not mine. As though I’m losing myself to my own emotions. Maybe she feels the same way.

Suddenly, my phone rings, and my train of thought is broken. I pick it up before checking who it is, but it can only be one person.

“Yes?”

“When are you coming back with your wife?” my father barks.

“I’m working on it,” I say.

“Not fast enough. President Lawrence is getting impatient now.”

“I have this,” I growl back at him.

“I don’t think you do. Control this situation now before it gets out of hand.”

The conversation ends before I can say another word.

I grind my teeth together and throw the phone on the bed.

Fuck.

I wish my father never discovered these damn phones on one of his trips here, because now he knows how to contact and torment me every second of the day, and it pisses me off.

My arms and hand sting, and I hiss in pain. I walk into the bathroom and look into the only remaining mirror. The wet shirt still clings to my chest. I haven’t had the time, or the patience, to change out of it yet.

I peel it away slowly to reveal the red mark on my arm, which slowly becomes more visible as I take it all off and throw my clothes in the corner. When I touch my own skin, it burns like fire.

It’ll probably turn into a huge scar. I sigh out loud.

I look away and quickly wash my hands to rid myself of the blood from smashing the other mirror and wipe it off, pretending nothing ever happened. If I am to fix this, I’d better stop moping around and get back to it.