Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(3)

He looked to his trainers, mumbling, “My God, this is fucked-up petty.”

Okay.

Um…

No.

“Right. Just leave my key, grab your box and go.”

He lifted his head, and his eyes were narrow. “Hang on a second. We’re not over just because you’re throwing a fit about your washing machine.”

“Yes, Bryan.” I uncrossed my arms and put my hands to my hips. “Yes, we are. Because it’s become clear to me that you aren’t getting this in a way you never will. I’ve put up with it for too long as it is.”

“Put up with what?” He jerked his thumb at his chest. “Me?”

“Your disrespect for me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he blew out.

I stared at him.

Then I looked to the side, took a beat, and turned back to him.

“Hitting my head last night hurt a lot, Bryan.”

His handsome face went soft. “Baby, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said the last time I hit my head.”

“Okay, but I mean it this time. Seriously.”

“I heard you laugh last night when I cried out. It woke you up, you called to ask if I was okay. I said I hit my head, and I heard you laugh.”

His lips tipped. “When you’re not being pissy, you gotta admit it is kinda funny. You’re using the toilet, you get up and—”

I cut him off.

“It’s not funny, Bryan.”

His head jerked, possibly at my tone, which was firm but wounded.

I wanted to scream because it took me this long and cost me this many words and this much frustration, and I had to expose my hurt to finally get him to pay attention.

“And please listen to me when I explain all the reasons why it’s not,” I went on. “First, if I’d done something, even inadvertently, that made you feel pain, it would make me feel pain. I would not want pain for you. I especially would not want to be the cause of that pain. I’m not a frat buddy you’re pulling a prank on. I’m your girlfriend, the woman you’re supposed to love. How my pain could ever, ever translate to amusement to you, I have no idea. That’s the first part.”

“You’re right, that was shitty,” he muttered.

“It was, but as I’ve mentioned, it’s happened before, even though I asked, not mean, not bitchy. Nicely. Courteously. Please keep that cabinet door shut, especially considering its position. You disregarded my request. More than once. What does that say about how you truly feel about me?”

“Baby, it’s just me being a guy.”

“No it isn’t. Not every man on this planet does whatever the fuck they want, thinking they’re…what? I don’t know. So hot a woman will put up with it?”

Which, truth be told, he was incredibly hot.

But not that hot (in my estimation).

No one was that hot.

I carried on.

“Hoping they’ll hook up with their mother who’ll take care of their ass until they die? It isn’t the cabinet. It’s that and the light and the laundry and having to clean up after you and your friends. It’s asking you to separate the cutlery when you put it in the dishwasher, that is, when you put anything in the dishwasher, because it’s easier to put away, but you never bother. And requesting you recycle, and I find recyclables in my garbage.”

His face was flushing.

“Okay, seriously, I know this is gonna make me sound like a dick, but I’m honestly not trying to be a dick when I say, if it means so much to you, and it doesn’t to me, then you can do it yourself and not give me hassle, because it’s not important to me.”

“No, Bryan. See, this is the thing,” I retorted. “I am not going to spend any more time, much less consider a long-term relationship, or I should say a longer-term one, and commit to a man who cannot perform minor considerations simply because he values the person he’s spending time with. I’m asking you to close a cabinet. I’m asking you to put a bottle in a different bin that is right beside the garbage bin. I’m asking you to shove a fork in a certain slot. I’m asking you not to make insignificant promises, that are still promises, that you’re not going to keep, and I have to deal with the consequences. That’s all I’m asking. And you’ve demonstrated repeatedly you can’t do these things. So we are done.”

He lifted his hands in front of him in an “I give up,” gesture.

“All right, baby, I get it. I see now how important this stuff is to you. I’ll get on it. I mean that.”

“And then what, Bryan? You’ll be”—I did air quotation marks—“good for a while, and then we have this conversation again? We’ve been there before. It doesn’t last. Or, because I made it clear your inaction has repercussions, you’ll note these things, and do better, but then something else will come up, I’ll share, you won’t pay it any heed, and I’ll have to get fed up to the point I need to do something extreme to get your attention, and only then I’ll get your attention? Is this the cycle you want to land on me? Is this how you want me to live?”

He was stuck, considering that was where he’d put himself, so to that, he just screwed up his mouth and remained silent.