"I despise you so fucking much that I want you to be sent off to the other side of the world, Athena." He takes his last step, his front pressing against my back, pushing my pelvis into the counter. "But I also need you as much as the air that I bre...
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And here I am again, lying in bed, overthinking.
I shouldn't. Everything is supposed to be perfect. But for the past few days, something felt off. Actually, things have been different for a long time now, but maybe it's just me.
When Ares proposed, I immediately said yes. Because of course, I want to marry him, I love him. But I also said yes because I thought this was what we needed, what I needed.
But somehow the question still ponders in my head.
What the fuck am I doing?
I push the sheets away from me and sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at my legs. I hear the water of the shower running. Last night Ares was pissed, and so was I. but instead of talking it out, we fucked it out.
Which -if you want my opinion- is not a good way of settling things.
I feel a twist in my chest looking down at my naked body. Something feels off.
I press my thighs together, feeling the uncomfortable sensation between my legs. I let my finger brush against my thighs and when I part my legs, my hand slips in between them.
I am not wet, I'm not horny. But it's like my frustration and stress is affecting me here. It's uncomfortable.
I take a deep breath and push myself off the bed. The only thing that helps when I feel like this is drowning my frustration at the gym. So I put on my gym clothes and pack a bag with a towel, water bottle, and my shower product.
I head for the door of our room when Ares walks out of the bathroom.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"Are you still mad?"
"No."
"Lying doesn't suit you."
"Of course, I am still mad, Ares!" I spin back, shouting at him. "We are getting married, and you are not fucking capable of keeping your ego to yourself for one simple dinner!" I walk closer to him glaring at him. "Athena has been my best friend ever since I can remember and it's not you who is going to push us apart." I plant my finger into his chest. "And if you make me choose, I'll be out the door in a heartbeat."
He steps closer reaching out for me, but I pull myself away from him. "No! Don't fucking touch me! I am sick of this. I know exactly how it's going to go; you're going to pull me in for a hug, kiss my neck, bathe me in your sweetness, and next thing I know we're going to be having sex, without ever addressing the real issue!" I step back, realizing how heavy my breathing is. I've never felt like this. I am tired of this. I need communication.
His eyes show that he is hurt, but he knows I am right. And somehow my next words come out too fast. It's inevitable.
"I'm not someone like this, if you can't resolve your problem like a normal person, then find someone who doesn't mind being used like this." I storm out, knowing I left him breathless and hurt in the room. But I was just telling the truth. I don't want a relationship like this. It has always been that way and I'm getting sick of it.
