Marx Girl

Brock rolls his eyes. “Now you are being fucking dramatic. He listens to everything you say.”

I fake a smile. “Thanks.”

“He doesn’t technically start work for another month. He’s just here early helping me out. I go to the Maldives in the morning, remember?”

“That’s right. That’ll be fun.” I smile.

“I would be a lot happier if you two sorted your shit before I went.”

I blow out a breath and take a mouthful of food. “I’m not giving in this time, Brock.” I sip my drink. “I’m standing my ground. He knows where to find me.”

It’s just gone 9:00 p.m. and I have my suitcase on the dining table as I pack the last of my things for my trip. I’m freshly showered and wearing my robe. I don’t fly out until tomorrow night but, thankfully, I have the day off tomorrow to get everything sorted.

I have that anxious, sick feeling in my stomach, and I can’t stop thinking about Ben. Is he alone in his apartment?

I hate it.

I see him all alone and scared when he was just fifteen, being shipped off to the army, and my heart bleeds. At a time of his life when he was vulnerable, sad, and impressionable, he was put into the hardest of hard environments. It’s no wonder he’s the way he is.

Just go around there.

If I go around and give in, then I am effectively surrendering my needs for his. However, the way I feel at the moment, I don’t really care about my needs anymore. But I know Adrian was right, and if we are to ever have a real future—one where I trust him—I need to think with my head and not with my stupid heart. That bitch only ever gets me in trouble where Ben is concerned. I’ve been feeling super fragile for most of the night. I even got teary when I watched the news.

Three weeks ago, my life was in order and I was in control. This week… not so much.

I feel like I have been put in a blender and have absolutely no focus on what emotion I’m feeling the most. I want him, I’m scared of him, I fear for him… I just want to look after him. I’m terrified that I might never get over him. I have no idea what the fuck is going on with me.

And I’m mad.

I’m mad at him for making me feel this way, but I’m furious at myself for letting him.

Knock, knock, knock.

Who’s that?

Must be one of the neighbours because the downstairs security door didn’t buzz. I peer through the peephole and see it’s Ben. I find myself opening the door in a rush.

His eyes search mine and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“Ben?” I ask.

He stares at me for a moment, as if trying to force words beyond his lips. “I can try,” he whispers. His face is tortured, and he looks so sad I grab him into an embrace and hold him tight.

“That’s all I’m asking for, baby.” I squeeze him tighter. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

9

Bridget

I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and he holds me tight, dropping his face into the curve of my neck.

We cling to each other as if our lives depend on it, and then he moves to kiss me softly.

We kiss again and again as he walks me back into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Don’t leave me fighting,” I whisper against his lips. “I don’t like it.”

He nods, but doesn’t answer. His lips are still locked with mine, and his hands are roaming up and over my behind as he pulls me closer to him.

Our kiss turns desperate.

I know he loves me.

I can feel it. Does he really think I can’t feel it?

I pull back to look at him. “If you can’t talk to me, Ben, then show me.”

His eyes search mine and he knows that this is his olive branch. I’m reaching out.

I want to meet him halfway; I want him to be able to talk to me. Damn, I want to believe that this is going to be even more than what we both ever imagined.

He kisses me again before he flicks the lock on the front door, and leads me into the bedroom.

We stand at the end of the bed and he holds me in his arms. “I missed you,” he whispers as his eyes search mine.

My eyes fill with tears. “I missed you, too, baby.”

Our lips touch and, oh, God… it’s the most perfect kiss. We kiss again and again. I can’t get close enough.

He slowly undoes the tie on my gown and opens it. His hungry eyes drop down my body and he licks his lips.

“Bridget,” he whispers as his hand cups my breast. His accent is stronger when he’s aroused, as if he goes back to his true self and forgets everything else he’s learned over time.