The Man Who Can't Be Moved

“Em…come on…just hear me out, okay? Don’t be like this; don’t shut me out the second you hear something you don’t like…at least give me the chance to explain…”

Fight or flight. That’s always been the motto I’ve lived by; practically the story of my life. Unfortunately, I’ve done way too much of the former and not enough of the latter; I’ve always chosen to do battle with someone, to go toe to toe with them regardless of whether I’m right or wrong or I’m the sole one to blame for the drama. The therapist had taught me how to deal with my anger and my hurt in a more productive way; to attempt to ‘turn the other cheek’ and seek some quiet, introspective time in order to come to terms with what had either been said or done and find a less hostile way of dealing with things. He’d taught me to find a safe haven; a place where I don’t feel threatened and where I can effectively calm myself down and avoid lashing out and hurting the people closest to me.

I’ve always been like that; I’ve always been a ‘dirty’ fighter, the type that says cruel, inhumane things to someone in order to avoid feeling hurt and rejected. Sid had unfortunately been on the receiving end a number of times during the early stages of my bipolar and he certainly hadn’t warranted having to put up with my irrational, volatile behaviour and he definitely didn’t deserve the things that I’d said to him. It’s the nature of the beast; one of the things I’ve never been able to control when it comes to my illness. And the last thing I want is to regress; to turn on Max and say something cutting and vicious, to hurt him after the hell he’s been through for the past five months. I don’t mean the words to come out of my mouth; they’re slipping between my lips before I even get a chance to consider their impact. I can never take back the things I say; no matter how much Max may assure me that he’s forgotten about them and that he takes it all with a grain of salt and chalks it up to my illness; I don’t want the guilt and the regret that comes with being so unintentionally cruel and malicious.

Unfortunately, my husband doesn’t subscribe to every theory and suggestion that even the highest priced psychologists and the most respected and decorated psychiatrists put forth. In fact, there’s been a number of times -especially when it comes to vitamin therapy as opposed to prescription meds and the use of traditional Chinese medicine to combat certain aspects of my illness- where he’s called them ‘quacks’ or ‘hoodoo, voodoo specialists’ and has insisted that I take legit pills and see a qualified doctor as opposed to ‘someone straight off the boat who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about’. To make matters worse, he’s a phenomenally stubborn bastard and simply doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no’. Everything has to be his way or the highway; he doesn’t grasp the whole concept of someone needing some ‘alone time’ and prefers to battle things out instead of just letting me calm down long enough to handle things in a mature, rational fashion. We’ve dealt with this same situation time and time again; phone calls that have been abruptly ended because of something he’s said that I’ve taken offence to and his refusal to let things lie for even half an hour. He has a ‘never go to bed angry’ motto that he vigorously upholds; a ‘what if tomorrow never comes’ way of thinking that prevents him from letting things stew for too long.

And I know, even as I ignore his attempts to reason with me as I hurry across Flower’s front lawn -inches of snow crunching and cracking under my boots- that this is a battle I won’t win. That no matter how fast and how far I may try to run, I’ll never get away from Max. He doesn’t tolerate my ‘spoiled brat, brooding bullshit’ as he’s been known to call it, and he believes that tough love is the successful approach to every situation. My family considers it bossy and domineering; my father after one short meeting feels that I’m being controlled and manipulated and that it won’t be long until I’m moulded into something and someone I no longer recognize. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don’t feel suffocated with Max; he gives me the leeway to get wild and crazy and irrational from time to time, but he’s also emotionally strong and mature enough to ‘reign things in’ when he feels they’re getting out of hand. He’s the only one that seems to have the patience and the tolerance to deal with me when my emotions are equivalent to an out of control roller coaster; the only one that had the balls to sacrifice his own wants and his own needs to get me the help I needed. Everyone else had turned a blind eye and had told me that whatever I was going through was just a stage. A by-product of grief that would diminish with time.

“Souhaitez-vous il suffit de tenir jusqu’ a une seconde?” Max’s long, strong fingers curl around my left wrist and he gently tucks me towards him, my back making solid contact with his front as his releases his hold on me and proceeds to wrap both arms tightly around me. “Don’t be like this, okay?” his lips are against my ear and his breath is warm and sweet against my skin and effortlessly wards off the frigid night air. “Don’t run away like this. S’il vous plait, ecoutez moi?”

“Why should I listen to a damn thing you have to say?” I huff, and struggle to escape his protective, almost possessive grasp. “You’ve already said enough, don’t you think? You’ve already manage to rip my heart out of my chest and stomp all over it.”

I don’t want to be pissed off at him; I don’t want to succumb to the hurt that sits heavily on my chest and the anger that stampedes through my entire body. I know I shouldn’t be this way, that I shouldn’t take everything that is said as a personal attack and I shouldn’t use his words and his feelings against him. The truth hurts; I am nowhere near ready to have a baby in the same way I’m still not fully ready to accept the loss I’d experienced several months ago. And no matter how much I argue and no matter how much I insist that I want to start a family for all the right reasons, the fact of the matter is that having a baby right now or even within the next year, would only complicate an already fragile situation.

Yet at the same time, I don’t want to wait forever to have kids. And to me, four years seems like a lifetime.

“Emmy-Lou…come on…don’t be like this…” he tightens his hold on me and presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I didn’t mean for things to sound the way they did, okay? You know how I feel about us having kids so soon; you know I think it’s better that we wait. It’s how I feel. It’s how I see things. And I think if you stopped being stubborn long enough to think about what I said, you’d realize that…”

“I’m not going to wait forever,” I interject. “I’m not going to spend the next four years of my life waiting to start a family. That’s just insane. Don’t you realize how crazy that sounds? To wait that long? You told me before we got married that you wanted kids and that you wanted us to have a family and that…”

“Four years isn’t that long,” he says. “It’s not like we’re going to be ancient in four years and too old to raise kids. And it gives you time go back to school and concentrate on your studies and…”

“Stop!” I order, and attempt to wriggle free once again. “Just stop pushing the whole schooling thing! ‘Cause the more you nag me about it the more pissed off I get and the more pissed off I get, the more I want…”

“Just listen to me,” Max implores, his embrace finally loosening and his hands sliding along my stomach and over my hips before taking a firm hold of the fabric of my jacket and turning me around to face him. “Give me a couple of seconds to explain, okay? To try and make things right? Pouvez-vous faire pour moi? Give me a chance to at least state my case?”

“Fine…” I huff, and fight an overwhelming urge to not only cross my arms over my chest, but to divert my gaze elsewhere. I can’t bear the weight of his deep, intense blue eyes -they change colour depending on his mood, everything from a vivid, startling turquoise to what can only be described as storm cloud grey- seemingly burrowing straight into my soul. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with beautiful eyes; someone whose true emotions and wants and desires are evident through the simplest of gazes and the most intense of stares and Max is no exception. He’s always been able to effortlessly tear down every barrier I throw up to protect myself.

And it’s impossible to stay angry when his masculine, intoxicating scent never fails to cause my skin to tingle or my stomach to flutter. Nor is it easy to escape when his fingers are not only biting into my hips, but he’s using nearly the full weight of his body to pin me against the side of Vero’s Mercedes SUV that’s parked at the top of the crowded driveway.

“It’s not a good idea to have a baby right now,” Max stresses. “It’s not the right time for both of us. You’re still sick, Emmy-Lou. You’re still sick and it’s a struggle every day to keep things running smoothly, right?”

“But I’ll always be sick,” I argue. “I’ll always have bi-polar. It’s never going to go away and I’ll be on medication for the rest of my natural born life and…”

“Things get easier to deal with over time,” he gently interjects. “The longer everything stays balanced and the meds keep your mood under control, the better it is for everyone. Didn’t the doctor say that the first year was crucial? Didn’t he say that the most serious lapses happen within the first twelve months?”

“Yeah…but…”

“I just think that having a baby would be too much for you,” he continues. “That you’re still vulnerable and things are still fragile and that a baby would just put extra strain on you. Especially if something goes wrong. That would put you ever the edge; you wouldn’t be able to deal with that. And I don’t want you constantly taking one step forward and two steps back. Why take that kind of risk? Why do that kind of damage to yourself? I don’t want to see you like that, Em. And honestly?” he sighs heavily, and relinquishing the hold on my hips, allows his hands drift under the hem of my jacket and up my sides. “Honestly, I don’t think I could take it if something happened to you. You’re my one and only concern. I just want you to be healthy. And I know that if something went wrong…”

“I can’t wait four years,” I remain adamant. “I can’t wait that long. You might as well be asking me to wait forever, Max. You’ll be just shy of thirty and I’ll be almost twenty-five and…”

“And that’s still young. Why is there a time limit? Why…?”

“I can’t wait that long!” I insist. “I won’t wait that long. And if you don’t want kids, just tell me now. If you can’t see yourself ever having a family with me, tell me now and…”

“I never said that I didn’t want a family. I just said we should wait a while. And there won’t be time for babies if you go back to school and…”
“Not this again,” I both sigh and roll my eyes in exasperation. “Not the school thing again.”

“You wanted it before we got together,” he points out. “You only dropped out because you got sick and went to Montreal. What’s stopping you from going back? What’s changed? You had this great thing going on and…”

“And my life went in a completely different direction,” I finish for him. “I became a wife and my priorities changed and…”

“Non…non…” he shakes his head. “…they shouldn’t have changed because of me. Because of us. You can still go to school and get your degree and start a career. There’s nothing holding you back and I’d never stop you from doing all of that. I want you to do it. Us getting married shouldn’t change every part of your life. It shouldn’t mess up how things were before we met. What will you do after we start a family? When all the babies are grown and they all start school? You won’t be happy staying at home. You’re not that type of person. You’re too independent and you’re too smart to live like that. You won’t be happy. And that’s what I want for you. To be happy.”

“Being with you is what makes me happy,” I inform him. “You make me happy. And having babies…your babies…is what I want. What is so wrong about changing my priorities? With wanting something different? School is my choice, Max. Not yours. You can’t force me to go back and you need to back off. Back off and give me space to decide all of this on my own. If you keep pushing me like this…”

“Fine…” he relents. “Fine…maybe I come on a little too strong. Maybe I’m a little pushy…”

“A little?” I arch an eyebrow and stare at him pointedly.

“…but I just want you to realize that if you want it, Emmy-Lou, you can have it. I’ll support you no matter what. But I can’t give in when it comes to babies. I can’t. I know what’s right for you. And having kids at this point in time isn’t it.”

“But four years? That’s a long time. A hell of a long time. You can’t tell me that you don’t think it might as well be an eternity. What if I don’t go back to school? What if…”

He opens his mouth to speak and I lay two fingers over his lips to silence him.

“What if I don’t go back?” I continue. “If I choose not to? Are we still going to wait that long? What’s the point of holding off for four years if there’s nothing standing in the way?”

“If…” he takes gentle hold of my wrist and peeling my hand away from his face, entwines our fingers together and lays our joined hands on the small of my back. “…if you don’t, then we’ll just wait a couple of years.”

“A couple of years? Why are you…?”

He presses a kiss to my temple and then nuzzles my ear with the tip of his nose. “We need that time, Em. We need to concentrate on us for a bit. ‘Cause we may be husband and wife now, but we still need to get to know each other. We need time alone to do that. And maybe…well maybe I’m just being selfish…” he places a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “…maybe I’m just being very selfish and I want you all to myself for a little while. I don’t want to share you. Not even with a baby. Not yet anyway.”

“You couldn’t just say that right from the beginning?” I tease, as I curl my arm around his neck. “You couldn’t just let your guard down for five seconds and admit that right at the very beginning? Instead of handing me all this shit about me being sick and wanting me to go back to school and…”

“Not shit,” he says, and shakes his head. “Rien de tout cela c’etait de la merde. All of that was the truth. I am worried about bad things happening and what they might to do you and I do think you should go back to school and I do…”

“Enough,” I order. “Soyez tranquille deja. Can’t you ever just fully surrender? Can’t you ever just give up? You tired me, Maxime. You’re a frustrating, insufferable bastard at best. If you weren’t so fucking hot and you weren’t so…what’s the word…experienced…your ass would have been out there door a long time ago.”

“Now the truth comes out,” I can feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckles and the warmth of his breath on the side of my face and against my ear. “Now you’re finally admitting that you’re using me for sex.”

“I’m not finally admitting anything,” I say, and then give a shriek when his ice cold fingertips drift along the small of my back. “I just always assumed you knew I was just using you for sex. Are you actually complaining? Do you honestly have something against being used for your body and your talents de toutes les choses sexuelles?”

“I am not a moron,” he declares. “I’d never complain about something like that. And just think…whatever you decide? Well you’ve ever got two or four years to use me and abuse me? I mean, come on Emma-Leigh. You married Max Talbot. Who wants to rush into babies right away when you could spend a few years doing nothing but having crazy, hot sex constantly?”

“Well I guess that’s one way of looking at things,” I laugh. “And I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re brain is only capable of thinking that way. Is it really all you think about? Sex?”

“No,” he quickly admits. “It’s not all I think about. I think about lots of things.”

I pull back slightly and stare at him expectantly.

“I think about hockey, food, football…” his eyes narrow as he racks his brain searching for more options.

“Sports, drinking beer, eating and sleeping. The four main staples in your life,” I conclude.

“I am not that bad!” he exclaims. “I have one main staple in my life and the rest come afterwards.”

“Yeah…your Johnson…that‘s your main staple,” I chide, and then giggle when drops my hand in order to grab a hold of my ass with both of his and then presses his entire body against mine.

“You,” he declares, and presses a series of kisses along my jaw. “Vous est vous seul.”

I can’t take it anymore. The overwhelming intensity of his eyes when he pulls back to look at me, the warm breath that wafts over my wind and cold bitten cheeks, the heat that practically pulsates from every one of his pores and his delicious scent and the weight of his strong, solid body all mixes together to make one hell of a powerful aphrodisiac and before I can stop myself, I’m standing on my tiptoes and arching my body against his and gripping the back of his head and the nape of his neck tightly as my lips devour his.

It’s a kiss that easily puts all others to shame; that curls my toes and causes my stomach to flutter and my heart to pound and desire to burn inside of me and pool between my legs. It’s an unbelievable feeling to be kissed like that; to not only feel how much someone wants you and needs you, but how capable you are of driving them completely crazy. And we’re so caught up in the moment, in a frenzy of swirling tongues and raging hormones that we don’t hear the footsteps that approach. We’re so lost in each other that we’re not aware of the crunching of snow under heavy boots of the embarrassed clearing of throats as we’re caught in what some would consider a compromising position.

And as quickly as the desire and the want and need had come over me, something completely different grabs hold as Max reluctantly pulls away and I realize just who it is that has caught us. A familiar -and apparently furious and disgusted face- that I had promised myself wouldn’t cause the butterflies that are now rampaging through my stomach or the dread and anxiety that grips at my heart.

“Well…well…well…” a smirk tugs at the corners of Sid’s mouth. “…if it isn’t the newlyweds putting on a free show for everyone.”

Max grabs a hold of my hand in a show of possession and his fingers tighten painfully around mine. It seems as if time stands still; as if the only sound is the thundering of my heart and the blood rushing through my head as we all stare at one another and no one dares utter a word and make a move. The tiny and outwardly embarrassed brunette -she’s been shifting from foot to foot and rocking back and forth on her heels the entire time- beside my ex has a ‘deer caught in the headlight looks’ on her wholesome face. It’s an awkward moment to say the least.

It’s definitely not the way I’d wanted things to go down. It’s not how I wanted to come face to face with Sid after five months. And the emotions that surge through me and the nervousness and dread can only mean one thing.

I wasn’t as prepared to face certain parts of my past as I thought I was.