You Make Me (Blurred Lines #1)(56)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Staring at him, I tried to find any hint of remorse in his voice, but there wasn’t any. Not a drop. Sometimes his anger scared me. That he held so much resentment and rage inside him. That there were huge parts of him that I didn’t know. Had it always been that way? Had I just chosen to ignore that with the romantic fervor of being seventeen?

“Why are you so angry?” I whispered.

But he just scoffed. “You’re angry too. You just don’t admit it.”

“That’s not true. I have no intention of getting revenge on Brian.” But I had turned my back on him. I had contemplated slapping him. The fact that maybe there was an ounce of truth to what Heath said unnerved me, which in turn made me even more angry. The very thing I didn’t want to be. “But all of that aside, why the hell didn’t you tell me? What else haven’t you told me?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise. A gift.” He shook his head. “Because I’m a f**king idiot, apparently.”

“It was definitely a surprise. You should have talked to me about it. You never even asked me if I want it. Or if I want you to have it.” That didn’t sound right. It sounded selfish. But it was my childhood home. The emotion attached to that, to what my family had been, what we had never been, what no longer existed, was huge. My emotion. And yes, he was attached to that too, to the house, to my family, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his house to do with whatever he wanted.

Only now apparently it was.

He could do whatever he wanted and he hadn’t even bothered to consult with me about it.

There was that feeling again, of being directed, led, by the men in my life. It seemed like my choices were always taken away.

“If you want me to have it?” His eyebrows shot up. “So it’s conditional? Maybe I don’t deserve it?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean? Because I’d love to hear.” His voice was rising. “I’d love to hear how me saving your house from the bank and probably sliding into total dilapidation is a bad thing. But you know, maybe you’re just like your father and Brian and everyone else… maybe you don’t really think that I belonged there, with any of you.”

“You belonged with me,” I said firmly, starting to feel guilty, starting to panic. I hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, to make him feel that he shouldn’t have been there. But damn it, I was right. There were things you discussed before you did them.

“But not in your family? Yeah, well, I never belonged in any family, so I don’t know why the f**k I keep trying. I wanted to make a family with you. That’s what I wanted.”

“Wanted? Past tense?”

“Don’t go looking to pick a fight with me, Cat. Seriously. I am not in the mood.”

As if I were the unreasonable one. “I’m not picking a fight. I’m trying to understand why you keep secrets from me.”

“I don’t keep secrets,” he insisted. “And if you trusted me, this wouldn’t be an issue. I’m not going to keep doing this. I’m not going to have this same goddamn conversation every time you feel jealous or insecure.”

“How is this on me?” I dropped my knees to the bed, completely furious that he was acting like I was just being a pathetic little girl while he hadn’t done a thing wrong.

“Because you keep saying you trust me, but you don’t! You can’t just accept that maybe I wanted to give the house to you? Do something nice for you, for our future?”

“But at the expense of my brother. How can you be thoughtful and cruel in the same gesture?”

“Because emotion is complicated! I had to go through Brian to get the house for you, so what is wrong with sticking it to him while doing something good for you? Don’t tell me that your actions are simple, that everything you do has just one purpose, one desire attached to it. That’s bullshit.”

Part of me was afraid he was right. So I went on the defensive. “I’m an open book. My actions are clear.”

“Mine are more clear than yours are, because I’m honest. You’re so used to pretending, I don’t think you even know any more what you want.”

A gasp left my mouth. “What are you talking about? I’m not pretending!”

“Not with me. But you’ve spent the last eighteen months, hell, maybe longer, pretending to be someone you’re not. I mean, you stopped eating meat, for Christ’s sake! Why? To fit in with the hipster crowd? You are stubborn and full of pride and feistiness. You used to go a round with your brother, with all the other foster kids, with your high school biology teacher, your dad. Before I got here, when was the last time you allowed yourself to be angry? To be emotional?”

I hadn’t. “It’s called self control. You should exercise it sometime.”

“I’m completely in control. You’re the one who has lost it. I don’t know what you want. I buy you a house and you’re pissed.” He threw his hands up like he was done with the conversation.

“Because you didn’t ask me!” Was that really so hard to understand? Apparently it was.

“I’m going to bed.” He turned to lay down and in the process bumped my leg.

I pushed him, furious, irrational. I could feel it again. Like it had been in the bar, a living, breathing, crawling hysteria. It happened when I felt like I didn’t know him, when I felt like he was about to hurt me.

“Cat. Seriously. Enough.” It was a patronizing tone. An indication that he thought I was irrational and annoying, even after he had said being emotional was part of my nature.

It was a mixed message.

That was all it took to send me climbing over his body, intending to get out of bed. Heath blocked me, and I grappled with him. “Let me go!”

“No.” He pinned me to the bed with one leg.

“What are you doing?” I shoved at his chest.

“I’m going to angry f**k you. Isn’t that what you want?” His hand was already cruising over my br**sts and on down towards my crotch.

Part of me did and I hated myself for it. Disgusted with both of us, I said, “No! Now get off of me.”

“Fine.” He rolled over and put his arm behind his head like he was going to go to sleep. “But you’re a liar.”

Before I was aware I was going to, my hand lifted and I went to slap him. His eyes were open. He knew it was coming. I saw the recognition there as I closed in on his face, but he didn’t stop me. He could have stopped me. I know he could have.