You like it when you are pulled in different directions.
No. I shake my head gently and take another sip of burning-warm scotch.
You wanted me back and I warned you it wouldn't be easy.
Let's get something straight here. I wanted you to come back for your son.
Don't be coy. Henry has a waiting list of surrogate dads and has hardly noticed I'm here or made note of the fact that I'm back ten days early. This is about us.
There is no us. I am drunk and slurring slightly. I wonder briefly if he can still understand me.
Those delusions help you sleep, don't they, beautiful? He reaches out to touch my bitten shoulder but I pull back, away, pushing out from the table. It could have been worse and by the way, you look adorable and helpless with your hair ending at your chin like that.
Fuck you and your fantasies, Diabhal.
He lifts up his drink and drains the glass before placing it upside down. He leans across the table and smiles again, without letting his eyes in on the joke. What if I changed my terms?
You don't get to have terms. We have no agreements.
But we could. We should.
I need to go.
Probably a good idea. I'll walk you over.
I can find my way across the drive.
Bears, Bridget.
Ironic. Leave the wolf to encounter a bear.
He ignores the namecalling. You're not at full capacity right now. Let's go.
That's the kindest way anyone's ever described me, you know that? I stumble when I stand up. Fucking Scotch.
He just smiles so very tightly, and offers me his hand.
