He Loves Me Not *Under Editing*

Separate but together

He was in the bathroom when I got there.  His shirt was off and I saw red welts slashing across his back.  He saw me in the mirror and gave a weak smile.  Luckily, none of them were bleeding.  He turned his muscular torso around and I saw the bruises on his face again, they looked like perfect knuckles decorating the side of his eye.  My eyes softened, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this wasn't from football?"

He just nodded and tried to see his back in the mirror.  I felt so bad, the guilt washed over me in waves.  I didn't know what to do so I just left and went to my room.  

There was no way I was letting Alex go back home.  While pacing, the oven went off, I rushed to the kitchen and pulled out the chicken alfredo bake.  Alex lumbered into the kitchen and sat where Jake was sitting.  His shirt was still off, probably because the fabric hurt his back.  I gave a weak smile and scooped some food onto a plate for him.  He returned the smile and picked at the food.  

I had my own plate in front of me, but I couldn't stop thinking of his back.  How did those get there?  No doubt they were from his dad, but what did he use?  My plate hadn't been touched, and I was instead staring at his chest.  I don't know about him, but the sexual tension was building inside me, we were home alone, no one was going to be disturbing us...  I almost thought about making a move.  He saw me staring and peered through his eyelashes.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring at me, so it's obviously something."

"Just thinking is all."

"About earlier, I guess I was just pissed off that Jake is trying to hard.  I still want you, I just want to know you want me too.  Only me."

"I know."  I put my head on my hand and picked at my plate.  His face looked remorseful, but I wasn't going to let him go that easy.  This was my pity party and I was gonna cry if I wanted to dammit.  Having not touched my dinner, I put it back in the pan and put some saran wrap over it.  His was half eaten, but he was done.  I scraped his into the trash and went to my room.   

He followed.  I was too annoyed to give a fuck and changed into my pajamas, a sports bra and really, really, REALLY short gym shorts.  I saw him shake his head, but he didn't say anything.  I grabbed one of my pillows and a blanket, then retreated to the living room.  I laid my materials on the biggest couch and crawled under the blanket.  After about an hour, Alex came into the living room, picked me up -- grunting heavily might I add -- and carried me to my room.  "I'm not letting you sleep on the couch."

"I'm not letting you sleep on the couch."

"Why not?"

"Because you are not only my guest, but you just had surgery mister, and you can't sleep on the couch."

"You just...  Nevermind, you are sleeping in your bed."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm not sleeping in my bed."

"We are at an impasse then darling, and I promise you I will win."  He dumped me on my bed and went into the living room.  I ran back in there and jumped onto the couch.  He sighed and went to pick me up again, but grabbed his side.  I jumped up and forced him into my room.  He sat on the bed, in too much pain to argue.  

"Promise me, promise me you won't sleep on the couch." He wheezed.

"Then where am I going to sleep, Alex?"

"Here, and I'll sleep on the damn couch."

"No."

"Why not?"