Wide awake

Chapter Forty Five. Chewy Granola Grievances Part 2

E.P.O.V

She fucking slapped me. 

I mean, there was one conflicting part of my conscience that was fairly confident I deserved that shit. Using her one failed sexual experience to punctuate my point was an unforgivably low blow. It was a completely inconsiderate, harsh disregard of her feelings. I knew this shit, and a little part of me hated myself for saying it, but the other part of my conscience reminded me that it served its purpose better than anything else I could have mentioned. This whole mental instability shtick was her thing, not mine. 

I had prepared myself so completely for the bitterness and defeat that would inevitably follow after she realized how right I was. I was prepared to soften my features and kiss her head, and tell her it was okay. It didn’t matter to me if she sometimes had difficulty discerning real memories from delusions. I’d love her no matter what.

Thankfully, the bitterness was painfully present in her shining eyes as her lip trembled, and I was so goddamn relieved as I stared back at her and mentally primed my fantastic comforting skills, because she was basically conceding that she was in my room last night. It was like the rising panic that had been building since lunch suddenly dissipated. Her eyes were brimming with moisture and defeat, and I anticipated holding her while she cried.

For about two seconds.

Then her lip stilled and her jaw locked, and instead of bitterness, I saw only conviction and certainty. The sight of it made my stomach twist and churn as I barely heard the fabric of her arm shifting.

And then she fucking slapped me. 

And it wasn’t one of those girly bullshit smacks either. It almost knocked me over with the force of it, and my cheek was still throbbing in pain and stinging from the outside in. I mean, shit. She really just… slapped the living shit out of me. It really fucking hurt.

More.

I felt a brief swelling of pleasure that penetrated my irritation and anger for an abrupt moment. It was interrupted by the look in her eyes when I met her gaze again. Courage. Conviction. Anger. She used to be timid and meek, but I couldn’t find that in her eyes as she stared back at me. That one conflicting part of my brain that believed I deserved it wanted to be proud of her, but the other parts of my conscience drowned it out.

She looked fierce and regal and confident, and now as I stand here rubbing my cheek and gazing into her wild eyes, I realized she reminded me of how she looked last night. Almost cocky, save for her sallow cheeks and dry lips and purple under eye circles that contradicted everything else. This made my head spin as I closed my eyes and tried to sort through all this shit again, because her conviction was seriously damaging my own.

What was real? Was this Bella standing in front of me? Or was that her last night? Or were they both Bella all along and she didn’t know it? Or was she just… fucking with me?

I just didn’t know anymore, and it was completely fucked up that I could be so confused about something so obvious. I mean, I saw her on my goddamn sofa. I saw her tits and my necklace, and the redwas there. I could still recall with perfect clarity the way her hair fell on her shoulders and her pale shins peeking out from under the skirt as she curled up on my sofa. The memory of her silky voice and wicked red grin was clearer than any memory in my head. She was here. 

So who is this?

I opened my eyes and scanned her form suspiciously. She looked real. She looked like how she did last night, and yet she looked completely different all the same time. Confidence mixed with an air of fatigue.