28| ℬᎾℳᎯ

   MY BREATH IS RAGGED. I look at my phone: 6:45 pm. What the hell just happened? I try to recollect everything as we approach the car. 

   His fist is wrapped strongly around my wrist, with veins poking under his skin like vines about to burst.

   "STOP!" I drag my wrist away. He moves a few feet in front before walking back towards me, all the while looking away from my eyes. He takes my hands and I pull it out again. "NO!"

   He swallows, narrowing his eyes. "Can we just get in the car," he says. "Please?"

   “I don’t know if I want to get in that car with you.” 

   “I’m–" 

   “Don’t say you’re sorry, just don’t." I wipe my eyes with his pocket square and all of Mom’s precious masterpiece on my face follows the fabric.

   “Boma,” he takes my hand. I take it back and look him square in the face. He moves his jaw aside, clenching it as if he isn't done fighting or whatever.  

   “I don’t want to believe you’re a violent person," I say. "I'm trying to make out who you are and you're giving my several options that I don't understand."

   “He was going to hit you. Did you expect me to stand by and watch him? Or I should have given him a pat on the back? Would I prove to be better then!” 

   “I expected you to stop when I said stop!” I shiver.

   This damn dress. Damn everything.

   "I stopped!" His hands fly in the air. "Okay?"

   "Why are you raising your voice at me?"

   He blinks a couple times, before holding his face and screaming into his palm.

   "I'm sorry." He pulls his hands away, regulating his breathing as the burn in his eyes seem to evaporate. "I'm sorry I raised my voice and I'm sorry about everything."

   I gnash my teeth to keep from crying. I cry too much. "You didn't listen to me." My hands find my shoulders and I rub them furiously to gather some warmth.

   He wraps his Tuxedo around me. "Bo, I stopped."

   “Eventually, when you were satisfied. . .I don’t know why you keep. . ." What's it with crying anyhow? Stop with tears damn it! He pulls me into his chest and I start bawling again.

    He's wrong. Maybe he's worse than wrong. Am I even safe or am I just. . . He hit his hand and now this?

   I don’t want to think these thoughts. Holding on to him is all I want to know. It sounds wrong but I can't blame me. Maybe I'm being a stupid love addict but can I just. . . just be allowed to trust? I want to trust him. Is that wrong?

   "I'd never be able to watch someone threaten you," he says.

   “I know he hit you first, and all," I say. "But if you keep throwing punches whenever you're upset, you’ll end up fighting in bars and one day someone could hurt you, or what if you punched him badly and he died?” 

   “I’m so sorry I ruined your prom,” he says.

   “And it was perfect.” I pull my head up from his chest.

   “I just didn’t know what to do.” 

   “Next time, don’t fight with the intent to kill. If you can’t control it, walk away. Okay?” I take his hand. He winces when my fingers glide over his bruises. I put some well deserved pressure. 

   “OUCH!!” he withdraws his hand from me. 

   “You deserved that.” I grip the Tuxedo as another shiver rocks through me. 

   “You have to admit though, I was pretty good before all the drama," he winks. I smack him across the chest and stomp to the car. 

   I hear him chuckle behind me and I sigh. I'm letting it go, it won't happen again.

   Sitting inside the car, I feel that familiar heat rising in my veins and that stupid race in my heart. I fold my arms to keep me from vibrating noticeably. But it only seems to be more obvious.

   “You don’t have to hold back Bo, I’m still–” 

    Before he completes his sentence, I grab his head and pull his face into mine. When our lips meet for the fourth time that evening, I lose knowledge of space and time. I can only feel our heat, so much heat.

   It's a struggle to keep up with my breathing, my hands move from his face, to his neck, to his shoulders, then his arms. I squeeze the toned muscles a little before moving back to his head.

   All the while, his hands explore too. Moving from my lower back where the dress begins, all the way to my neck, then inside the tuxedo. I grab his hands and hold it away from me when they approach my boobs. Then I smile and break the kiss. 

   “Not today.” I clear my throat and pull the Tuxedo tight. I see him smile from the corner of my eye.

   He’s a good kisser. Well the only person I’ve ever kissed, so I won't be the best judge, but it wasn’t awkward.

   “For the surprise, ” He says.

   “Are you going to tell me what it is?” 

   “It’s dinner at my house, my mother insisted."

   My eyes open, close, rotate, blink, expand and contract in one second. “Nooooo," I smile. “Really?” 

   “She was really excited about it."

   “I don’t know, can I say no?” I ask, his face turns upside down. 

   “Well, yes.” 

   “Should I?” I tease. Of course I’m not going to say no, an opportunity to meet his mom and hear all those things he's hiding is not one I want to miss. 

   “No?” He suggests, smiling a nervous smile with a scrunched up face and a small pout.

     The smile makes me laugh loud. “Okay then, yes!” I say. “But I don’t look–" 

   “You're perfect. Only that your makeup is all patchy.” 

   “What do you expect? It’s been an emotional experience. Do you have any wipes?” I ask.

   “Sure.” He pulls out a packet of wet baby wipes from the compartment between the seats. I burst into laughter. 

   “What’s funny?” he asks. 

   “Nothing.” I collect the packet, removing a few sheets, before proceeding to wipe my face clean.

    "Tell me why you laughed." He insists.

   "I don't want to tease you." I apply some new lip gloss. “Good as new?”

   He smiles again, changing the gear as the car begins to move.