The girl I’ve become with Adam is so far apart from the girl I remember being. And everyone refuses to give me straight answers of how I got from point A to Q.
I pick up the dress, along with the others that I threw in the dressing room but haven’t tried on yet. “I’m getting them.”
I’m in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich when Adam finally crawls out of his room for the day. His unshaven facial hair is longer than I’ve seen it. His dark hair is sticking up in places and matted down in others. His right hand is wrapped in a bandage and there are dots of dried blood on his knuckles seeping through the gauze. His eyes are bloodshot and he doesn’t look at me as he walks to the coffee pot. I feel the tension begin to bubble between us, and instinctively, I straighten my back. I can feel his eyes boring into the back of me as he takes in every inch of my exposed skin.
“Nice dress.” By the tone in his voice, he hates the dress.
I don’t move. I keep my hands on the counter, watching the sandwich cook on the countertop griddle, and press my lips together.
I don’t respond to Adam’s sneer, but I see him sit down at the kitchen table with his head draped in his hands. The steam from his coffee cup floats upward and disappears into his hands.
Finally, he rubs his hands roughly over his face and takes his first sip.
“Just tell me about the fucking dream, Amy. Tell me what sort of asshole you think I am now.” His nose wrinkles, and over the hissing griddle, I hear him grind his teeth together. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anything. He just stares straight ahead at the television mounted on our far wall with blank, dark eyes.
The smell of burning bread snaps me back to the counter, and I swear, flipping the burnt sandwich into the sink before unplugging the griddle.
How do I tell him how it felt to watch him kiss some girl and then throw my tongue down some asshole’s throat just because I was pissed?
I was jealous.
I was emotional .
I don’t remember there ever being a time in my life where my emotions ruled my actions.
It wasn’t what happened in the dream that terrified me. I’ve replayed it in my mind a dozen times and I don’t actually think he wanted to kiss Britnee. It was my own actions that have shaken me.
It was how I felt. Crazed. Like a lunatic in search of a drug to satisfy an itch that burned deep in my bones.
I don’t understand it, and it scares the hell out of me. It wasn’t me. Somehow the girl who moved into this apartment is the complete opposite of the girl I remember being.
She’s the evil twin driven by emotions. I can see it. I can feel it in the darkest places inside me that I’ve somehow changed.
“Just tell me, please.” He turns to me with begging eyes, and I realize I’ve just been staring at him. Or through him, because I haven’t seen anything. His voice is desperate, his eyes pleading.
I can’t resist.
“We were at a formal for your frat. I walked in on Britnee kissing you in the hallway and took off.” I swallow slowly. The scene flashes before my eyes, as I remember the feelings of pain and pride fighting for first place as I ran out of that ballroom.
“And made out with Brendan.” His voice is cold as he finishes my sentence, and there’s a tightness in his jaw. His undamaged hand grips his mug so harshly that his knuckles are white.
“I went home with him and cheated on you,” I clarify. I don’t know how the dream ended exactly, but I can imagine. With the hormones and emotions flooding me that night, I have no doubt I let Brendan take me somewhere and do whatever he wanted to me – just because I was pissed.
Adam scoffs and shakes his head. “You didn’t cheat on me. Although, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did after what you saw with Britnee.”
His eyes drift away from me and out to the window. It’s not the first time I watch a dream I had play out as a memory in his eyes. I watch
I pick up the dress, along with the others that I threw in the dressing room but haven’t tried on yet. “I’m getting them.”
I’m in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich when Adam finally crawls out of his room for the day. His unshaven facial hair is longer than I’ve seen it. His dark hair is sticking up in places and matted down in others. His right hand is wrapped in a bandage and there are dots of dried blood on his knuckles seeping through the gauze. His eyes are bloodshot and he doesn’t look at me as he walks to the coffee pot. I feel the tension begin to bubble between us, and instinctively, I straighten my back. I can feel his eyes boring into the back of me as he takes in every inch of my exposed skin.
“Nice dress.” By the tone in his voice, he hates the dress.
I don’t move. I keep my hands on the counter, watching the sandwich cook on the countertop griddle, and press my lips together.
I don’t respond to Adam’s sneer, but I see him sit down at the kitchen table with his head draped in his hands. The steam from his coffee cup floats upward and disappears into his hands.
Finally, he rubs his hands roughly over his face and takes his first sip.
“Just tell me about the fucking dream, Amy. Tell me what sort of asshole you think I am now.” His nose wrinkles, and over the hissing griddle, I hear him grind his teeth together. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anything. He just stares straight ahead at the television mounted on our far wall with blank, dark eyes.
The smell of burning bread snaps me back to the counter, and I swear, flipping the burnt sandwich into the sink before unplugging the griddle.
How do I tell him how it felt to watch him kiss some girl and then throw my tongue down some asshole’s throat just because I was pissed?
I was jealous.
I was emotional .
I don’t remember there ever being a time in my life where my emotions ruled my actions.
It wasn’t what happened in the dream that terrified me. I’ve replayed it in my mind a dozen times and I don’t actually think he wanted to kiss Britnee. It was my own actions that have shaken me.
It was how I felt. Crazed. Like a lunatic in search of a drug to satisfy an itch that burned deep in my bones.
I don’t understand it, and it scares the hell out of me. It wasn’t me. Somehow the girl who moved into this apartment is the complete opposite of the girl I remember being.
She’s the evil twin driven by emotions. I can see it. I can feel it in the darkest places inside me that I’ve somehow changed.
“Just tell me, please.” He turns to me with begging eyes, and I realize I’ve just been staring at him. Or through him, because I haven’t seen anything. His voice is desperate, his eyes pleading.
I can’t resist.
“We were at a formal for your frat. I walked in on Britnee kissing you in the hallway and took off.” I swallow slowly. The scene flashes before my eyes, as I remember the feelings of pain and pride fighting for first place as I ran out of that ballroom.
“And made out with Brendan.” His voice is cold as he finishes my sentence, and there’s a tightness in his jaw. His undamaged hand grips his mug so harshly that his knuckles are white.
“I went home with him and cheated on you,” I clarify. I don’t know how the dream ended exactly, but I can imagine. With the hormones and emotions flooding me that night, I have no doubt I let Brendan take me somewhere and do whatever he wanted to me – just because I was pissed.
Adam scoffs and shakes his head. “You didn’t cheat on me. Although, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did after what you saw with Britnee.”
His eyes drift away from me and out to the window. It’s not the first time I watch a dream I had play out as a memory in his eyes. I watch
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