Creed

He didn’t answer my plea. He asked crudely, “He do you, Sylvie?”

I shook my head and was still whispering when I replied, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”

“Don’t, beautiful, not until you answer me.”

I kept shaking my head, the hurt beginning to dig deep. “Don’t call me that when you’re angry.”

“Don’t avoid the question and f**kin’ answer me,” he retorted.

I stared at Creed and he stared right back.

When I felt the tears prick my eyes, I turned to go back to his room to get my coat and purse and I did this muttering, “I’m leaving.”

I didn’t make it. In the hall, Creed caught my arm and pulled me around to face him.

“Why are you avoiding the question, Sylvie?” he asked low, his voice angry.

I tried to twist my arm away but his fingers tightened so I stopped trying, leaned in and asked back, “Why are you asking the question, Creed?”

“You dated him,” he reminded me.

“Yeah,” I leaned in further, “once.”

“You sure it was only once?” he pressed.

I twisted and yanked my arm from his hold but stayed leaned into him. “Uh… yeah, Creed. It was only a year ago. I think I remember a year ago.”

“He’s into you, still. Everyone knows it mostly because the dickhead won’t shut up about it.”

“Okay but I’m not into him,” I returned then threw my hands out to indicate the hall and us in it, making my point even as I said it out loud. “I’m into you.”

Creed ignored this and asked, “That night you came home late, that one date you said you had, was it then? Did he do you then?”

I shook my head again, my heart pumping, the tears still stinging my eyes and it was taking everything to keep them from falling. “He didn’t do me at all and, by the way, it doesn’t feel really good that you keep asking when I already answered this question, Creed.”

“Dixon gets what he wants.”

Why were we still talking about this? Why didn’t he believe me? He always believed me. I’d never lied to him and he knew it. Why this? Why now?

“Well, he didn’t get me!” I snapped.

“How do I know that?” he pushed. My heart started pumping even harder, I felt the wet hit my eyes but now it was taking everything to stop from screaming. Creed didn’t notice, he kept going, “You told me that night you’d stop seein’ him. How do I know you did? How do I know even if you did, you didn’t give him somethin’ that night that should be all for me?”

“Maybe because I’m Sylvia Bissenette and not Winona Creed?” I asked sarcastically.

It came right out of my mouth before I could stop it. I knew it was mean, a cheap shot and I was so angry, so hurt, I didn’t care.

Except that night, my first and only date with Jason, when I came home to Creed in my bedroom, I’d never seen anything like this come from Creed. Even back then, he’d been nicer to me. Angry at me being late, frustrated that I was too young and he had to wait for me, I knew this now because he’d told me but he wasn’t mean.

I saw his head jerk slightly to the side at my nasty words but I was done with this conversation, so done, and I was leaving.

Therefore, I whirled and dashed to his room but by the time I grabbed my coat and purse, he was standing in the doorway.

I stomped right to within two feet of him and stopped.

“Out of my way, Creed,” I demanded. “I’m going home.”

“He suits you, not me.”

I went still and stared at his face, feeling his quiet, strangely husky words burn all over my skin like acid.

Then I lifted a hand, planted it in his chest and shoved him before I got close, tipping my head way back and glaring up at him, hissing, “Tucker Creed, for a smart guy you are so… very… stupid.”

His hand came up, fingers curling around my wrist, holding it to his chest and he whispered back, “You know it. I know it. Everyone in the county knows it.”

“I know no such thing,” I bit out.

“Bissenettes and Dixons, you two get together, it’d be the wedding of the century.”

Was he crazy?

I ripped my hand from his, stepped back, twisted my torso and threw my coat and purse on his bed before twisting back and semi-shouting, “You’ve gone totally insane!”

“Winona Creed’s son with anyone, not the wedding of f**kin’ anything.”

He had. He’d gone totally insane.

“You’re crazy,” I snapped.

“Am I wrong?” he asked.

I put my hands on my h*ps and returned sharply, “No, you aren’t wrong. Absolutely not. If a Bissenette married a Dixon in this county, it would be the wedding of the century.”

I watched his jaw get hard and it hurt to see pain slash through his features but I kept talking.

“But it’ll have to be some other Bissenette, Creed. Not me. I belong to you. You belong to me. If I married Jason, it might be the wedding of the century but it would go against all that was meant to be. Even back then when I was dating him, I hoped, heck, I prayed no girl would catch your eye before I got old enough to make you see me and how much I wanted you for mine and the first time you kissed me I thought finally, finally everything was as it was meant to be.” I threw up my hands. “The earth might stop rotating around the sun if I left you or you left me and I did something crazy and got together with Jason. So if I felt like that then, and, head’s up, Creed, I felt like that a year ago and two years ago and ten years ago, why would I ever give something that important to a guy like Jason Dixon when, from the minute I understood it was mine to give, I knew it was you I wanted to have it?”

“It’s mine to have?” he whispered.

Oh my God!

Why wasn’t he listening to me?

I planted my hands on my h*ps again and felt my brows draw together. “Yes, it always was and always will be… until you take it, of course. Which, by the way, if it was up,” I leaned in, “to me,” I pointed behind me to the bed, “you could take it right now.” I leaned back and threw my arms out to the sides. “But nooooo, you say we wait until it’s legal. So that’s on you,” I pointed at him, “not me.”

“Baby, don’t tempt me like that.” Creed was still whispering, his eyes intense, burning through me. It didn’t feel like acid this time but a whole lot different.