N-701124 {b. barnes}

XIII

"We've only been here for a few hours and you're already planning things out?" James asked.

"If we're going to be staying here long-term, we need a plan." Belle insisted. "What if someone finds us? We need an escape plan. What if there's a disaster? We need a different escape plan. Anything could go wrong. We need plans, James."

"Okay, okay." He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry for asking."

Belle doodled on the sheet of paper he gave her and ignored him when he tried talking to her. She didn't acknowledge him until she was done.

"Are you listening to me now?" He asked, irritated.

"Depends on what you have to say." She stood up from the floor.

"I was asking you about sleeping arrangements."

"You and I have slept together before. I don't see why it's a big deal now. Autumn can have her own bed. She's old enough. Do you have an issue with that?" Belle stared at him.

"No." He held her gaze. "I don't know why you think I have an issue with that."

"Because you're being stubborn and defiant. You act as if you don't like what I've come up with. If you have a better idea, spill it."

"I don't have a problem with it."

"Then stop acting like you do." Belle rolled her eyes.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. Stop arguing with me, honestly. You're supposed to be an adult, so start acting like it."

James shot her a sideways glare, turned on his heel, and walked off. She knew he couldn't go far, but for all she cared, he could try to hide all he wanted.

Belle stood in front of the bathroom mirror and slowly pulled off her bandages. She knew she healed faster than a normal person, but that didn't mean she wasn't prone to an infection or any other kind of disease. 

She wiped away the dried blood from her stitches and wrapped her shoulder again. She still couldn't feel her fingers, and she was beginning to believe she'd never feel them again.

She washed her hands and splashed water on her face. Sighing, she left the bathroom and sat down on against the wall of the apartment.

"You don't know how to talk about your feelings, do you?" 

She looked over at James, who sat near her, writing something in that journal of his.

"Why are you asking?"

"I'm talking about earlier. You were upset. You just didn't say it."

She turned to face him. "No one is going to say what they're feeling. You're not going to hear me say that I'm upset, or annoyed, or lonely, or anything like that. No one does that."

"So you don't let yourself feel feelings."

"Why are you talking to me about this? I don't see why it's any of your business. My feelings are mine and mine only. They're none of your business." She said bitterly.

"We're living together, I'm sure they're partly my business."

She glared at him. "I'll deal with them. I don't need your input."

"Fine." James went back to writing.

She watched him, curious as to what he was writing about. He must've known she was about to ask, because he said, "My writing is none of your business."