Calmly, Carefully, Completely(31)

I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my thoughts. But I can’t. I have never, ever felt like this before. My girlfriends have talked about it, but I have never felt it. Even when I go on dates, it’s like some part of me shuts down. But with Pete, nothing shuts down. Everything wakes up.

He goes on to say, “I don’t want to want you.”

My heart stutters. I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it. I nod. Nobody likes damaged goods.

I get up from the table and pick up my plate.

“Wait,” he calls.

I can’t wait. If I wait, he might see the tears that are brimming in my eyes.

“Princess,” he calls again. Suddenly, my shirt jerks and I can’t walk any farther. I look back and see his hand twisted in the tail end of my shirt. He leans over the table and presses his lips together. “Don’t walk away,” he says.

But all I see is the hand fisted in my shirt. My heart stutters, and my breaths freeze in my chest. I can’t get away. I turn back and punch him directly in the face with the heel of my hand. He jerks, his eyes closing as he winces and snaps his head back. I chop his wrist with my fist. One, two… Next, I’ll go for his eyes.

“Reagan!” Dad yells as he drops what he’s holding and rushes in my direction. He tackles Pete, who is still stunned from my punch to the face. They drop to the ground, with Pete rolling to the bottom. Dad flips him over and pulls his hands behind his back. “Reagan,” Dad grunts. “What happened?”

Pete lays there on the ground. He’s not even putting up a fight. He just winces, his eyes shut tightly as a slow trickle of blood streams from his nose.

“Stay down,” Dad warns.

Pete nods, and he doesn’t move. But his eyes finally open, and they meet mine. I don’t how to interpret that look at all or what to say. So, I turn and run back to the house. I run like the terrified little girl I am.

I burst through the back door and land in my mother’s arms. She grunts when I hit her in the chest, but it doesn’t stop her from hugging me tightly. “What in the world,” she breathes as she rocks me. She holds me close, stroking my hair until I can breathe. Then she pulls back, takes my face in her hands, and forces me to look at her. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she says.

“I think I made a mistake,” I sob.

“What happened?” she asks as she leads me to the kitchen table. She points to a chair, and I sink into it.

“Nothing,” I squeak, finally able to catch my breath.

I can’t believe I did that. I just assaulted some poor man who did nothing but flirt with me and then tell me he didn’t want to want me. I can’t tell my mother that.

She puts her hands on her hips. “It’s not nothing,” she insists.

The back door opens, and the evidence of my shame walks in behind my dad and Link. I wince and look everywhere but at Pete. “Can you get Pete some ice for his eye?” Dad asks my mom. Her brow arches at me, and she shoots me a glare that would drop a full-grown man in his tracks.

She starts to fill a zipper bag with ice. “And just why does Pete need ice for his eye?” she asks flippantly.

Dad points to me. “Your daughter hit him in the face.”

Mom gasps. “Reagan!”

Mom crosses to stand close to Pete. She looks him over, pressing on the bone beneath his eye with her thumb. He hisses in a breath. One side of his face is dirty, probably from where Dad rolled him into the dirt. Mom passes him a damp cloth, and he wipes gingerly at his face. When it’s clean, Mom presses his eye socket with the pad of her thumb. He winces and jerks his head back.