fights.
Anger and me are bestest buds, so I’m damn good at it. “You will be if you don’t drop this.”
“Damn it, Morgan!” Oh yeah, I was making him feel much more at home with his anger right now. “I love you.” He made it sound like a curse.
“You can talk to me. Share things with me. It’s what people in love do.”
“I’m not the touchy-feely, crying-on-shoulders type of girl. I’ve never pretended to be.”
“It’s not ‘touchy-feely’ to answer me when I ask you what’s wrong! For God’s sake, it’s a simple question. All I’m asking is for you to share just a tiny bit of yourself with me. Is that too much to ask?”
I ran a hand through my hair and tried to tamp down my anger. He was right. But so was I. If I told him about the notes, about what was bothering me, it would lead to a long, heartfelt discussion. And it wouldn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t understand.
He tries his best, he really does. But he’s never been the kind of control freak I am. He’s never understood why I’m so fanatically anti-demon. And he’d never understand how the thought that I might be possessed—even when I knew it was just a product of my overactive imagination—could turn me into such a quivering bundle of nerves.
“I’m sorry, Brian,” I said. “I know you think I’m being a coldhearted bitch, but I can’t help being who I am. And I’m not the kind of woman to open a vein and bleed all over her boyfriend. If it were something I thought you could help me with, I’d talk about it.” I wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but it might have been. I’d have to wait until I had a problem I thought he could help with to see.
He shook his head and slid off the bed. His anger had faded, and now he just looked hurt. “I’m not asking you to open a vein,” he said softly, not looking at me. “I’d be happy with even the tiniest crumb, but you just won’t give it to me.”
36 / 226
Jenna Black, The Devil Inside (2007)
Morgan Kingsley #1
I held my breath, sure this was it, the moment I’d been dreading—the moment he decided I was more trouble than I was worth. As usual, I’d underestimated him.
“I’m going to go home now, before we have a chance to do permanent damage to each other,” he said. “But I’m not giving up on you, Morgan. I love you, and eventually I’m going to figure out some way to make you trust me enough to talk to me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I stayed sitting on the bed as he walked out of the room. He didn’t even slam the door when he left. I took a couple of deep breaths and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants legs.
Much as the thought of losing him made my heart ache, I knew the best thing I could do for both of us was to break up with him now, before I had a chance to hurt him any more. Because if he was just staying with me because he believed he’d change me, then our relationship was doomed. If I were a good, nice person, I’d save him a lot of heartache and set him free. I guess I’m not a good, nice person. That sucks. The weekend passed uneventfully, which was a nice change. Brian called on Saturday, just like he said he would, but it wasn’t a very productive phone call. I suppose the fact that he didn’t break up with me over the phone could be considered a good thing.
I awoke Monday morning feeling much better, having slept well for three nights in a row. Maybe the sleepwalking had run its course. I decided after all the unpleasantness that I had to make the first move to patch things up with Brian, so first thing Monday morning, I went online and ordered a big, honkin’ vase of white roses. I had them sent to his office. I wasn’t up to a mushy card, so all I said was I’m sorry I was such a bitch.
I spent a lot of time smiling as I rode the good ol’ Paoli Local into Philadelphia. I could just imagine what the rest of the stuffy lawyers in Brian’s firm thought about him receiving flowers from his girlfriend. He
Anger and me are bestest buds, so I’m damn good at it. “You will be if you don’t drop this.”
“Damn it, Morgan!” Oh yeah, I was making him feel much more at home with his anger right now. “I love you.” He made it sound like a curse.
“You can talk to me. Share things with me. It’s what people in love do.”
“I’m not the touchy-feely, crying-on-shoulders type of girl. I’ve never pretended to be.”
“It’s not ‘touchy-feely’ to answer me when I ask you what’s wrong! For God’s sake, it’s a simple question. All I’m asking is for you to share just a tiny bit of yourself with me. Is that too much to ask?”
I ran a hand through my hair and tried to tamp down my anger. He was right. But so was I. If I told him about the notes, about what was bothering me, it would lead to a long, heartfelt discussion. And it wouldn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t understand.
He tries his best, he really does. But he’s never been the kind of control freak I am. He’s never understood why I’m so fanatically anti-demon. And he’d never understand how the thought that I might be possessed—even when I knew it was just a product of my overactive imagination—could turn me into such a quivering bundle of nerves.
“I’m sorry, Brian,” I said. “I know you think I’m being a coldhearted bitch, but I can’t help being who I am. And I’m not the kind of woman to open a vein and bleed all over her boyfriend. If it were something I thought you could help me with, I’d talk about it.” I wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but it might have been. I’d have to wait until I had a problem I thought he could help with to see.
He shook his head and slid off the bed. His anger had faded, and now he just looked hurt. “I’m not asking you to open a vein,” he said softly, not looking at me. “I’d be happy with even the tiniest crumb, but you just won’t give it to me.”
36 / 226
Jenna Black, The Devil Inside (2007)
Morgan Kingsley #1
I held my breath, sure this was it, the moment I’d been dreading—the moment he decided I was more trouble than I was worth. As usual, I’d underestimated him.
“I’m going to go home now, before we have a chance to do permanent damage to each other,” he said. “But I’m not giving up on you, Morgan. I love you, and eventually I’m going to figure out some way to make you trust me enough to talk to me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I stayed sitting on the bed as he walked out of the room. He didn’t even slam the door when he left. I took a couple of deep breaths and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants legs.
Much as the thought of losing him made my heart ache, I knew the best thing I could do for both of us was to break up with him now, before I had a chance to hurt him any more. Because if he was just staying with me because he believed he’d change me, then our relationship was doomed. If I were a good, nice person, I’d save him a lot of heartache and set him free. I guess I’m not a good, nice person. That sucks. The weekend passed uneventfully, which was a nice change. Brian called on Saturday, just like he said he would, but it wasn’t a very productive phone call. I suppose the fact that he didn’t break up with me over the phone could be considered a good thing.
I awoke Monday morning feeling much better, having slept well for three nights in a row. Maybe the sleepwalking had run its course. I decided after all the unpleasantness that I had to make the first move to patch things up with Brian, so first thing Monday morning, I went online and ordered a big, honkin’ vase of white roses. I had them sent to his office. I wasn’t up to a mushy card, so all I said was I’m sorry I was such a bitch.
I spent a lot of time smiling as I rode the good ol’ Paoli Local into Philadelphia. I could just imagine what the rest of the stuffy lawyers in Brian’s firm thought about him receiving flowers from his girlfriend. He
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