A Nice Guy

35

The next few days, things only get worse between us.

I go through her phone, reading her most recent messages between Derrick and Angel. Derrick's messages are short, to the point, emotionless. Hazel had written a long apology, and Derrick's reply was "I don't care."

She'd asked him if she could call him to explain everything, his reply was "divorce papers are on the way." After that message, none of her texts to him went through; she'd been blocked.

The messages between her and Angel are worse, though. Hazel had begged her sister to live with her, explaining how she was forced to move in with me, her abuser. I roll my eyes at that part. That's a little dramatic.

Angel's reply was, "No one's forcing you to live with him. After what Anna told me about you two, I'm starting to think that you lied to me. Alex never hurt you, did he? You just needed to feel like the victim, but Derrick is the real victim in all of this." Hazel didn't reply, understandably so.

I return her phone to her nightstand, staring down at her as she sleeps. I'm getting concerned for our baby now. She's barely eating, so that means our baby is starving. The thought alone makes me pull back the comforter, exposing Hazel to the air conditioned room. She groans, attempting to reach for it, but I pull it back further.

"Get up," I tell her.

Her eyes are still closed, but she draws her brows together. "Fuck you."

I scoff, turning to the window. I open the blinds, letting light pour into the room. It's early, maybe seven in the morning. The yellow hues drape over her face, and her messy hair is illuminated by the light, highlighting all of its frizz. She covers her eyes with her hands, but I pull them away. "Get up," I repeat.

Slowly, she opens her eyes. She's scowling at me, but I don't care. I'm memorized by the way her eyes turn to gold when the light hits them just right. She says something, but I don't hear her. I'm too busy taking in her appearance. Her hair is curly and all over the place, and it's this gorgeous honey color that's even more gorgeous with the streaks of sunlight running through it.

"Alex," she says. I blink. "Did you hear me?"

I shake my head, kneeling down next to her. She smells like vanilla, and it makes me want to suffocate myself between her legs. "Tell me again."

A smile creeps onto her face. "I said, go fucking die."

I roll my eyes, bringing my hand to her cheek. I caress it, gently dragging my thumb along her silky skin. "You don't mean that," I tell her.

"I do," she laughs. "I mean it, Alex. I hate you. I wish you were dead." She's not smiling anymore. Surprisingly, she's not crying either. She's just staring at me with this blank expression, and it makes my skin crawl.

Okay, enough of the sappy shit. "Get up," I tell her a third time, still crouched in front of her. My voice is stern now, angry almost. She averts her eyes. "Now."

She slowly sits up in the bed, wincing in pain from what I can only assume to be pregnancy related, because she places a hand over her belly. She takes a deep breath, and then another, before completely sitting up. I stand, holding out my hand for her to take.

She refuses my hand, instead climbing out of the bed on her own. When she stands, she pushes me away as she walks towards the bathroom. She slams the door shut, then locks it.

Today I plan on making her three full meals, and her eating all of them. And when I do cook for her, she eats. It's a relief, of course, but afterwards, she retreats to the bedroom, locking me out. This happens every meal; me picking the lock, forcing her out of bed, her saying some vile shit to me, eating, then retreating. It's fucking exhausting.

She doesn't want me to shower with her anymore, and makes me sleep on the couch. It's driving me crazy, but I know it's just a phase. She's depressed and angry and needs someone to take it out on. Who better than me, right? And I'll take it, because after this phase we'll be able to form an actual relationship. That alone is worth it all.