“Would do you mean ‘run from me’? Do you think I’ll do that to you?” She looks horrified, nervous, like she’s wish the ground would open up and swallow her whole. But I can’t stop the anger, hurt, or whatever this feeling is.

“God no. I trust you T. It was just… I hope that you know that what we did…. I mean when we…. you know….”

“What Bette, had *****?” Her nervousness is only serving to piss me off more. And the deep red of my face is not from embarrassment or arousal, but the rage of fear. Fear that after all this Bette realized that I’m not enough for her. It seems ridiculous after all I thought about ‘us’ a minute ago, but maybe this feeling will never go away.

“Yeah that.” if she said anything I couldn’t hear it. I just hear. ‘Get out. Fight back. Run. It’s starting.’ Before I could check myself emotions, maybe shut down and walk out, I lashed out.

“Yeah that? What the ***** does ‘yeah that’ mean Bette? Was that not special to you? Did it mean nothing? Was that the icing on the cake for you? Get the straight girl and fall in love and sleep with you? Did you give herself extra point s for having her family and best friend to alienate her? What the ***** is ‘yeah that’?” I don’t want to hear her responses, her pleas to me, begging me to stay. I just want to get the ***** out of here.

“Tina, stop. Just stop right now. If you would get your head out of you ***** for two seconds, you would see that I love you. Did you not hear that part? Or is each fumble I make going to make you believe otherwise. In case you forgot last night, I may have lost the only person that was the closet to me.” She doesn’t need to say anymore, although I know she’s not done. I can see that I ruined the moment with my freak out. I overreacted, again and maybe not for the last time. So I’m the bad guy, the *****. And this realization has me crying, hard. Quietly, but hard.