“Excuse me!?”

“You're in a fucking marriage you hate – so much so that you took a job on the other side of the world so you could get away. You're in a fucking job you hate – so much so that you ditch it at every opportunity you get. Your problem isn't that you make bad decisions, Mischa. Your problem is that you're too much of a pussy to fix them,” he called her out.

Everything he said was right. She knew that, knew it all. She was scared to leave her job, because she didn't know what would be waiting for her. She was scared to leave her marriage, because she didn't know what that would do to Mike. What it would do to her.

“You're right,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “You're absolutely right. I don't know how I became this person. This … weak person. I wasn't always like this, I don't know what happened. You shouldn't be with me, Tal. Find someone as strong as you.”

He let out a groan, then knelt on the end of the mattress. He grabbed her by her hip and her knee and dragged her to him, so she was even with him on the bed. He laid down with her, propping himself up by resting his head against his fist.

“You're strong, Mischa. You've just forgotten how to be that way all the time. So fine, go to Positano, do what you have to do. Go to Turkey, do what you have to do there. But then come find me,” he urged. She sniffled and shook her head.

“And then what? What if I'm still this weak person? And even if I wasn't, what would we do? I live in a hotel room while you disappear for days on end, doing a job that you still won't fully explain to me? And as hard as it is to believe, Tal, I have a life. I have a home. I have friends, and family. You gonna move to Michigan with me?” she asked. He snorted.

“Fuck that.”

She even laughed.

“Exactly. You're like … this free thing. So free. And I'm just not. It's been nice to pretend for a while, and I'll never be able to thank you enough, for what you've done for me.”

She was crying in earnest now, not even trying to hide it.

“If you don't want to be with me, just say that, Misch. I'm a big boy, I can handle it. I don't want to be like Michael, living in your darkness. I wanna hear you say it,” Tal urged. She cried harder.

“It's not that. I do want you, I do. I just can't hold you back. I already held someone else back, for eight years, and look at how that's ending. I'll never do that again,” she told him.

“That won't happen to us,” he insisted.

“Oh really? How? How do you know? How do you know you won't hate me in a year, when I'm still this crying, unsure, unconfident mess? How do we know this is real? What if in another eight years, it turns out we never really felt this way?” she demanded.

Tal laid down flat, so they were eye to eye. He pressed his hand to the side of her face. His large, warm hand, with his long, dexterous fingers. They pressed against her head, lightly massaging her skin. He stared straight at her, his black eyes pulling her into him. No one had ever looked at her like that before; it was one of the most intense moments she'd ever experienced.

“Tell me right now that this doesn't feel real to you. Tell me right now that you're not feeling the same way as me, and I'll walk out that door,” he whispered.

Mischa cried out and shoved him away before she sat up. She got off the bed and began pacing back and forth.

“I can't do anything right,” she groaned, her hands going into her hair.

“What are you talking about?” he looked bewildered as he stood up as well.

“I had a plan. A goddamn plan! I just wanted to feel special, to feel like someone wanted me. I wasn't trying to have an affair, I wasn't looking for you!” she yelled at him.

“Are you saying this is my fault?” he asked in a steely voice. She shook her head.

“No. God, no. You have been the most amazing … everything. You're everything. I'm saying that I'm not good enough for you,” she stressed.

She was still pacing, and was near the door to the room. He stormed up to her and grabbed her by her arms, forced her against a wall. He glared down at her, and he looked pissed.

“How about you let me decide what is and isn't good for me, alright? Stop making fucking excuses. If you don't want this, say it,” he snapped. She took a deep breath.

“I don't want this.”

His glare grew more severe.

“Liar.”

“What do you want me to say!?” she demanded. “I don't trust you to be there! I don't trust myself to follow through! And Mike! God, Michael, I owe it to him to at least be there for him when I rip his heart out. I can't do that if you're in the background!”

“So that's it!? You just used me, this whole time, for a good fuck once in a while? I'm just 'background' to you!?” he demanded.

“No, but Mike needs -,”

Tal slammed his hand against the wall by her head, three times, in rapid succession. She shrieked and ducked a little.

“Fuck him! I don't want to hear his fucking name!” he bellowed.

Mischa was blown away.

“But he's my -,”

“He got eight years with you. Eight years! Eight years to get it right! Eight years of you all to himself! I've only had this time, and all I ever got was half of you – the other half was always with him. Always. So you know what!? I don't want to fucking hear about him,” he yelled at her.