She feels him behind her but she expects words, not the much-too-gentle touch of his fingers in her hair, carrying the destabilizing weight of a tenderness that has never made it beyond their shared bed. He doesn't touch her like this when they're having a row; he doesn't try to calm her like she's a child or a soft little wife. She reels back sharply, water droplets from the still-running sink faucet splashing them both in her sudden desperation to get away from him.
"Don't," she snaps, continuing to back away as though he might reach out and try it again. This is too fucking confusing, first his reaction and now this, what, trying to pacify her? She doesn't understand why, why any of it, why this awful softness now when nothing's been settled and she's too full of bristling anger to take it. Answering it like this will only hurt him and she knows it, but that don't mean she can stop herself, and that just makes her angrier, like he's setting himself up for it on purpose.
"I'm fine," she insists, her tone hard as she forces herself to turn away from him. "I'm going back out. Need some fucking air."
She doesn't tell him — can't tell him not to follow. But she expects the message will be clear in the tight hunch of her shoulders and all that's just come between them. She leaves fast, feeling like she can't breathe, not certain what she'll do if he tries to stop her. But he doesn't, and before she has any sense of where she's going she finds her way back outside into the warm night.
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"Don't," she snaps, continuing to back away as though he might reach out and try it again. This is too fucking confusing, first his reaction and now this, what, trying to pacify her? She doesn't understand why, why any of it, why this awful softness now when nothing's been settled and she's too full of bristling anger to take it. Answering it like this will only hurt him and she knows it, but that don't mean she can stop herself, and that just makes her angrier, like he's setting himself up for it on purpose.
"I'm fine," she insists, her tone hard as she forces herself to turn away from him. "I'm going back out. Need some fucking air."
She doesn't tell him — can't tell him not to follow. But she expects the message will be clear in the tight hunch of her shoulders and all that's just come between them. She leaves fast, feeling like she can't breathe, not certain what she'll do if he tries to stop her. But he doesn't, and before she has any sense of where she's going she finds her way back outside into the warm night.