Oh.
“I’d rather it if you just stayed in there with me. I’d feel bad if you had to sleep on your own couch,” I grumble.
I’m officially a loon. One second I tell him to stay in the friend territory only, and the next I’m asking him to sleep with me.
“I’ll be fine. Just let me know if you need anything,” he murmurs, his eyes averting me as they have since my cold request..
“Okay,” I mumble, and then I place my empty plate in the sink before walking to the bedroom.
He doesn’t look up, speak, or even acknowledge I’m walking by. I lean against the doorframe, and then I try not to sound like a spoiled, indecisive teen.
“Should I go?”
He finally looks up, his eyes still not catching mine, and shakes his head.
“Definitely not. It’s too easy to relapse this early on, and you were gone before you knew you were going the last time. Each time it gets worse.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this after what I just said. I can go stay with Clay,” I murmur while fighting back tears, and I swish over to the barely fixed door to leave.
“Araya,” he growls, and he jerks me around to face him. “Damn it, you’re staying here. Go get in my bed and get some sleep. You’re not hurting a damn thing, and I’m not letting you leave just because you don’t want to be with me.”
I don’t fight him when he ushers me back to the bedroom. I just flop onto the bed, sinking into my own web of fucked-up-ness. I watch as he climbs onto the couch in the living area, and I sigh as turn over on my side. What a fucking day.
