Who Can Really Blame You?

“Please, baby, call me back. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean what I say when I get angry. Please, call me back. We need to talk through this.”

“Ainsley, please, please call me back. I’ll do anything to fix this. I feel like shit for what I said. Please, just call me.”

“You’re angry, I get that. I don’t blame you. I can’t just walk away from this. I care about you too much. Please, just… call me? I’m dying here. I just want us to be together and not fight.”

“I know you hate me. You must be blocking my number or something… I’m so, so sorry. I just wish you would believe me. I’ll do anything to prove to you that I care about you. Ainsley, please, call me.”

I delete all the voicemails Mitchell leaves me. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I care about him, but I don’t appreciate him treating me this way.

I finally, after hours of staring at my phone, pick it up and dial his number. I bite my lip as it rings.

“Ainsley!” he exclaims when he answers.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

“Thank you for calling me,” he says sincerely.

“We do need to talk,” I say flatly, “Come over when you get a chance.”

He agrees, and tells me he’ll be here soon. I stare at my phone after I’ve hung up and try to think of what I’ll say.

Am I dumping him? I think I have to… I don’t feel any lovey things towards him. I want to be his friend, but the speech would ruin everything. He may even hate me after that.

I’m taken from my thoughts when a knock sounds on the door. I untangle my legs and make my way over to the kitchen and to the door, which I open. Mitchell comes right in. I close the door wordlessly, and turn. Mitchell takes my shoulders and kisses me. I pull away.

“Mitchell,” I say. He stares at me.

“Oh, fuck no,” he says, and storms from the room and into the living room, “You called me so I could come over so you could dump me?!”

“Mitchell,” I repeat, following him slowly. I sit down on the couch, and rest my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands. “Sit down?” I ask, staring up at him. He sits down next to me angrily.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he murmurs darkly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“I don’t feel like I could ever love you,” I admit, “I don’t want to date you for months and then not be able to say it.”

“I don’t care how you feel now,” he says, grabbing my hand, “Please just give me a chance.”

I don’t look at him.

“I—I can’t.”

He lets go of my hand.

“That’s not really it, is it?” he asks calmly.

“It really is,” I reply.

“You’re just dumping me because you see Carter at school,” he says.

“I’m not either,” I reply quietly.

“Why can’t I trust you?” he demands.

“I don’t know,” I reply, “You don’t want to.”

He stands up quickly, and I flinch back.

“Oh, don’t flinch like you’re some victim here!” he scoffs. I feel my eyes well up.

“It was never supposed to be this way,” I mutter.

“What, the little game you played with me? Not so fun anymore or something?” he asks, and he reminds me very much of the last time Carter and I really spoke. The only difference is that I could never imagine Carter hitting me, and I don’t even have to with Mitchell here.

“You’re not dumping me,” he seethes, towering over me as I hold my stomach with one hand and my nose with the other, and gasp a few times, “I decide when this is over, not you.”

I nod in agreement quickly, and remain huddled on the floor for a few moments until Mitchell moves away and sits down on the couch. I remain seated on the floor, my shoulder leaning into the back of the couch, until I can decide that I need to go puke.

I don’t know when we agreed that Mitchell could stay with me all the time, except for during our classes. I’m surprised that his things stay at his dorm most of the time, and that he’s not just moving in finally.

I think that that could be the final straw of my sanity, in all honesty.

I glace up at Mitchell, still shaking, and I’m still managing to be awed at how quickly he returns to normal after he does this, and how long it takes me to stop shaking in comparison.

I look back down quickly, the carpet pushing up between my fingers, and I don’t really care that my nose is still bleeding at this point. I see him take a drink of his beer in the corner of my eye, and I swallow hard.

I stand slowly, using the couch for balance, and turn to head to the bathroom.

“Where you going?” he asks gruffly, “I never said you could move.”

“My nose—it’s bleeding,” I say thickly, my bloodied nose making my voice sound warped.

He looks at me sharply.

“It’ll stop on its own,” he snaps, “Don’t be such a pussy.”

I don’t move for a moment, until he reaches out quickly and takes a hold of my arm, sending me back to the floor.

“Fucking annoying,” he mutters, and stands to go get another beer, dropping the glass bottle at my feet. I flinch but make no move otherwise.

Mitchell comes back in, another beer in hand, and sinks down into the couch, turning up the television higher. I don’t even know what he’s watching. I don’t care; I just want to go make my nose stop bleeding.

He doesn’t say anything for another hour, and only gets up once to get another drink. He leaves both empty bottles in front of me.

Finally, he turns off the TV, and I’m so relieved, because he’s going to bed and I can finally go make my nose stop bleeding. He stands up, stretches, and heads to our bedroom. I start to stand, and he turns to me.

“What are you doing?’ he asks, his voice very stable, even though I know that he’s at least slightly drunk.

“I thought…” I start off, freezing where I am.

“You thought?” he asks, “Surprise to me. Stay there until I tell you you can move.”

“But—” I start to argue. I have school tomorrow. I have to go to bed.

“Just do one thing for me, for once Ainsley!” he snaps, “I don’t ask you for anything, so just do this, and prove that you’re not just a spoiled lazy brat.”

I open my mouth to speak just as he flips off the light.

I stare at the bedroom door which he slams shut, and I’m honestly confused. What is this? I drag the back of my hand across my upper lip to catch the dripping blood, and cringe when I feel it drying on my arm.

After about twenty minutes I realize that he’s serious, so I sigh, pull my legs to my chest, and wait.