He gripped the pillow her head was on and squeezed the ever-living shit out of it. The tip of his cock was right there – right fucking there! Like a volcano, his anger erupted and he shouted incoherently, letting her hip go as he stormed off of her. His whole body shook, the taste of anger so palpable on his tongue he wanted to fucking blow up!

And he did. He swiped everything off the dresser and knocked the television down. It crashed to the floor as he raked both hands through his hair and stopped abruptly at the door. He knocked his head against it once, and then twice for good measure.

Why? WHY was she doing this?

“You’re nothin’ but a fuckin’ tease,” he cursed, breathing rapidly against the wood of the door.

Her cries only angered him even more. He turned to her and she recoiled at the sight of him, as she fucking should! He’d never been this pissed off before. Not even tonight’s news had tipped him over the edge like this. He was brimming in this vehemence and he hated her so fucking much for crying the way she did, the way that made his heart pain in his chest. Fuck her and her manipulative bullshit! She brings me in and pushes me away. Like stormy waves against a cliff, there was only so much crashing he could take.

“Move the fuck on!” he shouted at her, the pressure of anger so full in his head he just wanted to pop.

She brought her knees into her chest. He recognized this action from her well. She did it when she felt threatened and afraid. Fuck, she was afraid of him? The one man that would take a bullet for her without a moment’s notice?

“He doesn’t want you anymore,” he ground out, pointing at her accusingly. “I’m so fuckin’ sick and tired of this bullshit! He doesn’t want you anymore! When the fuck will you get that through to you? How else can I prove it to you—”

“You took me there on purpose!” she interrupted him. Even in the dark of the room he saw her redden from her own anger. “You wanted me to see him! That’s the only reason you took me there–”

“How the fuck else was I meant to show you he doesn’t care for you? He’s moved the fuck on! Hasn’t even disturbed me since the fuckin’ night he wanted you back!”

The words were like bullets. She flinched, the pain permeating her features, and then she had the audacity to shake her head!

“Stop this denial shit. I’ve fuckin’ had it, Sara. Fuckin’ had it like you wouldn’t believe. I’m so sick of waitin’ for you—”

“I never asked you wait, Remy,” she retorted. “You’re wasting your time with me. Go find someone else willing to put out for you.”

He wouldn’t let her see the panic those words caused him. Find someone else? He didn’t want anyone else. He’d be a shell without her.

“This isn’t about puttin’ out, Sara,” he told her calmly. God, what the fuck had he just done? It dawned on him quickly – the scene that had just unfolded, his demand for her to spread herself to him, the constant times she’d said no… He felt sick.

He stumbled to the edge of the bed and collapsed on it. Elbows propped on each knee, he looked down at the dark floor and rested his forehead against each hand. He let the silence soothe the anger away until…

“I’ve been waitin’ for you since you were fourteen,” he whispered. Oh, fuck, did he really just say those words? Maybe she didn’t hear them–

“Fourteen? Since the swings.” Her tone had softened by his calmness and it eased him. He didn’t want to fight with her. He just wanted her to know how he felt and how hard it was dealing with her constant rejection.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Pretty fucked up, huh?”

“Why didn’t you do anything?”

“You were fourteen, Sara. Four-fucking-teen. You know how sick that is? You know how sick I felt? I saw you walkin’ down the road in weird fuckin’ ducky jammies, and your hips were swayin’ with every step. I went cross-eyed just watchin’ you. I thought you were sixteen minimum. I’m perverted either way, huh?”

“You’re not perverted at all.”

“Fell in love with a fourteen year old at age twenty two? That’s perverted shit, Sara.”

Her breaths thinned. Yeah, he fucking admitted it. So what? He turned his head to her. She was eyeing him with a lost, disbelieving look.

“What’s wrong, Birdy? Cat got your pretty little tongue?” He needed to hear her speak. The silence was brutal.

To his surprise, she smiled shyly at him. “I had the biggest crush on you after that night.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I hated myself for not asking what your name was. I would get so tempted to walk into Jackal owned shops and ask about you. I couldn’t, obviously. I was too scared of them at the time.”

Well, shit. How about that? He’d always figured she’d thought he was some creep at the swings, an inconsequential occurrence that slipped away with the years.

“I’m sorry,” he said, remorse thick in his voice. “I lost my mind just now and…” And was a piece of shit for it.

She shook her head. “You stopped. That’s all that matters.”

“I didn’t want to stop.”

“I know. I didn’t want you to stop either, but…” She exhaled hesitantly, looking nervously down at her knotted fingers.

“But what, Sara?”

“I don’t think I can do this with you, Remy,” her voice broke. She quickly wiped away her tears. “I hate seeing you like this. This was coming, I knew it was. Lucinda warned me a man can only wait so long–”

“I’d wait another eleven years for you,” he interrupted unequivocally. “I don’t care how long. I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. What happened now, that was a moment of weakness combined with alcohol and other… stressful shit. I won’t let it happen again. Just… Just be patient with me, Sara. Alright?” Begging like a pussy-whipped–

Yeah, I’m a pussy-whipped fool, he thought. I don’t even care anymore.

“After all the patience you’ve shown me, you deserve it right back and more,” she told him. “I just don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?”

She stared at him with saddened eyes. “I don’t understand what it is about me that you want so much, Remy.”