Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five: It Is Too Soon.

I finally hear him coming through. I try not to get distracted by his half-naked, wet body. It isn’t the time for that.

“You showered without me,” I pout.

He has no emotion in his voice.

“You can’t be mad at me for being honest, Wyatt,” I say, imitating his tone.

“I am not mad.”

“Yes, you are.”

I watch his body tense, and he cranks his neck. “Drop it,” he replies through gritted teeth.

What is the point in trying to argue with him about it? He is so damn stubborn. I sigh, shake my head, and jump to my feet. I leave my room without another word. I lock the door behind me and rest against it.

Why did he have to say it? Things were good before he did. I hope my rejection doesn’t trigger him; I didn’t say no to hurt him. He must know that. I would never hurt him on purpose. He means too much to me.

I close my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. I switch the shower on and step into it. I slide to the floor and let the warm water fall over me. I try not to cry. I am sure he will calm down.

I get lost in my head. I don’t know how long I’m there, but I eventually gather myself. I wrap a towel around myself and stand in front of the mirror. “Everything is going to be okay,” I whisper.

I return to the bedroom, expecting to find Wyatt. I don’t. He isn’t in here.

“Wyatt?” I call out.

There is no answer. I go looking for him. He is probably making coffee or having a scotch. I realize I couldn’t be more wrong. He is nowhere in sight. He left! What the hell? Now, I am mad. My anger replaces my guilt. I can’t believe he left. Is he a child? We could have spoken about it like adults. There was no need for him to run away. It was a cowardly move.

I go back to my room and grab my cell. I wanted to see if maybe he had texted, hoping there was another reason for him leaving. There is nothing. I call him, but it goes to voicemail. I leave him a message.

“Brally. Wyatt. You left? What age are you, sixteen? You have no right to be pissed at me. We could have spoken, but no, instead, you ran away. Fuck you, Wyatt,” I hiss and end the call.

Why can’t things stay simple? There is no reason for this to complicate things. I toss my cell on the bed and groan in frustration. He can go to hell tonight. I am not going to reach out to him. He can come to me. What happened this afternoon was bad enough. Now, things have gotten worse. I need this fucking day to be over with.

I hate fighting with Wyatt, especially when it could be prevented. I daydream and pull on some PJs. Another glass of wine is required. A large one. I pour it out and take a seat on my sofa. My apartment feels empty and lonely. Is this how things are going to be when he doesn’t get his way? Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, since I know how much of a…

I give him the night to think; perhaps he will realize he overreacted and come to me. I can’t blame all of this on him. Rejection is not nice for anyone. Should I have told him to give me time to think on it?

God, I don’t know anymore. I down my wine and pour another. I will regret it in the morning, but right now, I don’t care. It’s either wine or tears. I don’t want to try talking when the clock strikes midnight. It would be a new day, and I am sure it can’t be any worse than today.