Passion's Crossfire

Chapter 36

Matt

The engine roars as I speed through the familiar streets, the world outside my car a blur of lights and shadows. I have no destination, only the burning need to escape the torment in my mind. Mallory's face haunts every thought, an unwelcome presence that won't be shaken. I can't believe she hasn't been home in weeks. Weeks.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I navigate the roads without a clear purpose. The screeching of tires and the blaring of horns become background noise to the tumultuous storm within me. I don't even notice the red light until my tires screech against the pavement, narrowly avoiding a collision. My heart pounds in my chest, but it's not the near-accident that scares me; it's the realization of how little control I have over my own life.

The world around me becomes a chaotic mess, reflecting the chaos within. But I can't let that deter me. No, I need to find out where she is, where that bastard Adam lives. The very thought of him makes my blood boil. I can't let her escape from me.

As I drive back to my house, the anger within me simmers, boiling beneath the surface. My parents are in the living room, the flickering light of the TV casting shadows on their faces. My mom greets me with a cheerful tone, but I don't spare her a glance. I ignore her and head straight to my room.

Once inside, I slam the door shut, the loud bang echoing my frustration. The room feels suffocating, closing in on me like a cage. I peel off my clothes, each article discarded angrily, as if shedding the remnants of a life that no longer makes sense. How dare Mallory deny me? How dare she refuse to tell me where she's been? She belongs to me, and I'll make her see that.

I pace back and forth, my mind a chaotic tempest of resentment and anger. Mallory is mine, and she will see that. No one walks away from me. No one denies me. The very thought of her choosing someone else, choosing him, sends a searing pain through my chest.

The soft knock on the door grates on my frayed nerves, and I can't summon the energy to muster anything resembling patience. "What?" I spit, my frustration seeping into every word. My father's voice, steady and patient, cuts through the tension from behind the door. "Son, I need to talk to you."

I swing the door open, scowling at him. "What is it?" I bark, my anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He remains calm, his gaze steady, and asks if he may come in. I take a step back, an impatient gesture granting him entrance.

He ventures cautiously, "How have you been?" I scoff, unimpressed by the small talk. "Cut to the chase," I retort, impatience seeping into my voice.

His expression hardens, and he takes a moment before broaching the real reason for his intrusion. "Your mother and I have noticed a change in your behavior," he begins, his words deliberate. I roll my eyes dismissively, not in the mood for a lecture on my apparent shortcomings.

What he says next catches me off guard. "Most troubling is that I received a call from Mallory's mother." The mention of her name sends a shiver down my spine, an involuntary reaction I can't control. I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose, bracing myself for what's coming.

Surprisingly, my father's tone remains calm. "I thought you were done with Mallory," he says evenly, and I can't decipher if there's a hint of disappointment in his eyes. I sigh, weary from the weight of it all.

A bitter laugh escapes me, a laugh that holds no amusement. "Apparently, I'm not."

His calm exterior falters slightly, replaced by a more serious demeanor. "I hate to say I told you so," he admits, "but I warned you about this."

I scoff at his supposed foresight, "What am I supposed to do? Let her run around with every asshole she meets?" I retort, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

A knowing smile plays on my father's lips. "So, there is someone else," he observes.

I run a hand through my hair, the admission escaping my lips with a spat of resentment. "What if there is? I shouldn't have broken up with her. I made a mistake, okay? She has to come back to me."

My father's eyes meet mine with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. "Son," he begins, his tone measured, "you can't force someone to be with you. It doesn't work like that."

"How does it work, Dad?" I spit the words out, anger fueling every syllable. "We were together for two years; she either still has feelings for me, or she never had!"

My father, his patience seemingly worn thin, responds with a slight edge to his voice, "Is that so? Then I guess you never had feelings for her, considering the array of girls you brought here after you broke up with Mallory."

I grit my teeth, the accusation hitting a nerve. "It's different," I retort defensively.

My father's voice rises a notch, a touch of frustration evident. "It's not different, Matt. You have to leave her alone. You can't force her to be with you."

I scowl, refusing to accept the truth he's offering. "I'll get her back, you'll see!" I declare, the determination in my voice leaving no room for doubt.

He sighs, the weariness evident in his eyes. "I don't care if you keep pursuing her," he concedes, "but no more uninvited visits at her house, and no more confronting her like a caveman."

I feel a surge of frustration at his imposed restrictions. "What, so I'm just supposed to sit back and watch her move on?" I retort, my jaw clenched.

My father's gaze remains steady. "You're supposed to respect her choices, Matt. If she wants to be with you, she'll come back. Pressuring her will only push her further away."

I huff in frustration, pacing the room as if the movement alone could dispel the turmoil inside me. "I can't just do nothing," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

"Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest thing to do," he offers, his tone softening with a touch of understanding. "But it's often the only thing you can do."

I shoot him a resentful glare, feeling the weight of his words settling heavily on my shoulders. The knowledge that I have to let go, even temporarily, clashes violently with my desire to reclaim what I've lost. It's a battle of wills, both internal and external, and I'm caught in the crossfire.