Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(19)
Author: Colleen Hoover

“Cold sore relief?” She squirts that one right in my face. “I can’t believe you put all these in our bathroom! I swear to God, you’re a little boy, Warren. A jealous little boy!”

I pull the rest of the tubes from her hands and I wrestle her onto her back, locking her arms to the mattress.

“You’re such an asshole,” she yells.

I struggle to hold her still. “If I’m an asshole, then you’re a coldhearted, calculating, ruthless bitch!”

She grunts, trying to free herself from my grip. I refuse to budge, but I also do my best to remove the anger from my voice and speak to her calmly.

“What was that about, Bridgette? Huh? Why the hell did you bring him here?”

She stops struggling long enough to smile in my face. Knowing that my jealousy makes her smile pisses me off even more. I hold both of her wrists with one hand and reach beside her head, grabbing a tube of the cream. I flip the lid open and squirt it in her hair. She starts thrashing beneath me and God, I’m so mad at her.

Why would she do that?

I grab her jaw and hold her face so she’ll look at me. She realizes she’s not overpowering me physically, so she relents. Her chest is heaving and she’s gasping for breath. I can see anger in her eyes. I have no idea what gives her the right to be mad, when she’s the one fucking with my head.

I lower my forehead to hers and close my eyes. “Why?” I say, breathless. The room grows quiet. “Why did you bring him here?”

She sighs and turns her head. I pull back and look down on her, convinced I see more pain in her features than anger. Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “Why’d you let another girl move in today?”

I know that was hard for her, because her question proves that she cares. That question proves that I wasn’t the only one fearing a new roommate would come between us. She’s scared I’ll move on. She’s scared that Sydney is going to come between us, so she tried to hurt me first.

“You think things might change between us just because another girl moved in?” I ask her. She looks over my shoulder so she doesn’t have to look me in the eyes. I tilt her jaw and make her look at me. “Is that why you brought him here?”

Her eyes narrow and she tightens her lips, refusing to admit she was hurt.

“Just say it,” I beg. I need her to say it out loud. All I need is for her to admit she brought him here because she was hurt and scared. I need her to admit that there’s an actual heart inside her chest. And that sometimes it beats for me.

Since she won’t admit it, I’ll admit it for her. “You’ve never let anyone close enough to where their absence could hurt you. But it would hurt you if I left you, so you wanted to hurt me first.” I press my lips closer to her ear. “You did,” I whisper. “Seeing you walk through that door with him hurt like hell. But I’m not going anywhere, Bridgette, and I’m not interested in anyone else. So that little game you tried to play backfired, because from now on, the only man you’re allowed to bring home is the one who already lives here.” I slowly pull back and look her in the eyes. “Understood?”

In true Bridgette form, she refuses to answer. But I also know that her refusal to answer is her way of saying I’m right and that she agrees.

She’s breathing so much heavier than she was a few minutes ago. I’m almost certain I am, too, because it doesn’t feel like my lungs are working anymore. I can’t inhale, no matter how hard I try, because the need to kiss her has taken over my passageways. I need her air.

I force my mouth against hers and I kiss her with a possessiveness I didn’t even know was in me. I kiss her so desperately, I forget that I’m still mad at her. My tongue dives into her mouth and she takes it, giving me her own desperate kiss in return, grabbing at my face, pulling me closer. I can feel her in this kiss like I’ve never felt her before. It’s probably the best kiss I’ve ever experienced with her, because it’s the first kiss with actual emotions behind it.

Even though it’s the best kiss, it’s also one of the shortest. She shoves me away from her. She’s out of my bed, out of my bedroom, and out of my line of sight as the bathroom door slams behind her. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.

She’s so confusing. She’s so frustrating. She’s so damn unpredictable.

She’s nothing I’ve ever wanted in a girl. And absolutely everything I need.

I hear the water in the shower start running, so I immediately roll off the bed and walk into the bathroom. My heart tightens a little when the doorknob turns and I realize she didn’t lock it behind her. I know this sign means she wants me to follow her. What she wants me to do once I’m inside this bathroom is a mystery, though. Does she want me to take her against the shower wall? Does she want me to apologize to her? Does she want me to talk to her?

I don’t know with her. I never know. So, I do what I always do and wait for her to show me what she needs. I walk into the bathroom and grab a towel to wipe all the damn cream out of my hair. I get as much out as I can and then close the lid to the toilet and take a seat on it, listening quietly as she continues her shower. I know she knows I’m in here, but she doesn’t speak. I’d even take her insults right now if it meant she would say something to alleviate the silence.

I lean forward and clasp my hands between my knees. “Does this scare you, Bridgette?”

I know she hears me, but she doesn’t answer. That means yes.

I let my head fall into my hands and I vow to remain calm. This is how she relates. She doesn’t know any different. Somehow, over the course of her twenty-two years, she’s never learned how to love, or even communicate, really. That’s not her fault.

“Have you ever been in love before?”

It’s a slightly generic question. I don’t ask if she could fall in love with me specifically, so maybe the question won’t piss her off.

I hear a relenting sigh come from behind the shower curtain. “I think it takes being loved in order to know how to love,” she says quietly. “So I guess that’s a no.”

I wince at her answer. What a sad, sad answer. One I wasn’t expecting.

“You can’t really believe that, Bridgette.”

Silence follows. She doesn’t reply.

“Your mother loved you,” I say to her.

“My mother gave me to my grandmother when I was six months old.”

“I’m sure your grandmother loved you.”