And then it hits you. The lunch, the hotel room, the condom in the back pocket… What the fuck are you doing, Wren?! You freeze and stare at the Durex in your hand. For a second he doesn’t notice that you aren’t moving and continues kissing your throat, but then he stops and looks into your eyes.
“Put me down.”
He’s breathing heavily, but listens and lowers you on the floor. You sway but stay upright.
“I need to…” What were you even going to say? Breathing is hard, the pain in your chest is tearing you apart. You step away from him and try to pick up your handbag from the floor.
“Wren, what is wrong? Wren?”
Don’t open, don’t open, you are mentally addressing your bag. You just cannot pick up whatever rolls out of it. But it’s zipped, and you finally manage to grab the handle.
“Wren, what the fuck are you doing?” His voice is low and raspy. Exactly the question you’ve been asking yourself.
“No!” he slams his palm into the wall. You don’t even flinch. “Not until you explain what’s going on!”
You lift your eyes at him. He looks confused and irked. And that’s when you hit him. This time it’s not a romantic slap. It’s a full scale punch. His head jerks back, and he bares his teeth.
“Do not ever talk to me again,” you hiss.
For a second you think he will let you leave. He’s rooted to the place, pupils so large that you can hardly see the blue.
And then he grabs your shoulders and shakes you.
“You are not leaving!” He’s yelling into your face.
“Let me go!” You are screaming back. Maybe someone will call the police. He snarls, and it’s terrifying. He is towering over you, and you panic. You are in a locked room with a man who’s twice your size, and it’s no longer the man you had lunch and joked about Fatal Attraction with. There’s nothing left from the gentleman who wanted to open a car door for you. It’s a large, dominant, enraged male, and you shrink from the animalistic gnarl and the livid dark eyes.
Whatever he sees in your face hinders him. He steps back.
“What the fuck is going on, Wren?” You are shaking.
“I’m leaving. Let me go.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
“You’re frightening me! Let me go.”
“You weren’t scared a few seconds ago.”
“I am now, you can’t keep me here.” He exhales sharply, and then all of a sudden his shoulders droop.
“Wren… I’m begging you, can we please talk?” The tone is soft and gentle, so is the expression on his face, and it just triggers something in you. You just don’t believe in this sudden compliance of his!
“No, we won’t talk! You do not deserve the right to talk to me!” Now it’s your turn to yell and show your teeth. “You are not allowed! You don’t deserve anything! You fucked me thinking I was with Phil! You propositioned me! And even when I refused you, twice, you are still bending me!” You see red. “A lunch, a room, that is so by the book that I must seem like such a moron to you! I am fucking brainless! To fall for this! I’m pathetic, I disgust myself for doing it!”
“Wrennie…” You slap him. He doesn’t even shield himself.
“Don’t call me that! Thea calls me that. You are not allowed. Not you!” He’s standing in front of you, his arms hanging along his body, the cheek you punched and then slapped red.
“I hate you! Do you hear me?! Hate you!” You are probably crying, you feel dampness and heat on your cheeks. But you don’t care. “Why didn’t you just fuck me when it all started? Why did you have to turn me inside out? And Phil, how did you feel about that?!”
“Wren, let me explain…”
“Explain what? That you slept with me because you could?! Since I came to you myself, and all women are whores anyways? Since you know us so well, and because you thought you had the right, as a big bad alpha?! That was what happened, wasn’t it?!” He closes his eyes. You know you are right about everything.
“Oh, and tell me that you were protecting Phil from a lying cunt such as myself! Common, go for an honourable saviour image!” You are practically shrieking, but you so don’t fucking care anymore!
You suddenly can’t breathe and sink on the floor. The dry heaving starts, and you hide your head between your knees. You hear the rustle of him moving.
“Do not touch me…” Your teeth are chattering. “Just don’t…” You are hyperventilating now, your head spins. All you can see is a small patch of the carpet on the floor.
“Wren, you are having a panic attack, you need to talk to me. Are you hot or cold?” You can hardly understand what he’s saying.
He moves somewhere out of your field of vision, and then a comforter covers your shoulders. He sits on the floor near you without touching you.
You have had the attacks before, you know the drill. You are breathing slowly and deeply.
“Wren, you are doing great.” His voice is calm and even. “You just have to breathe. Is there anything that helps you? Can I get you anything?” You shake your head. “It’s OK, you just breathe, and it will pass.”
A few minutes later you seem to be almost calm, your vision clear, and you look at him. He is sitting on the floor, leaning on the base of the bed, and his face is sad and tired. You feel suddenly sleepy, and your eyelids are heavy. The comforter is warm and soft.
“Common, Wren, you need to lie down.” He’s still not touching you. “Do you want me to help you?”
The world is all fuzzy, and everything sways. You try to shake your head, but it’s so heavy. You don’t feel him picking you up and putting you on the bed.
You wake up in an unfamiliar bed, fully clothed, and you sit up with a jerk. He’s sitting in a chair by the wall, his elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled and pressed to his lips.
“What time is it?” God, you left the lab for lunch!
“It’s seven o’clock, you slept for six hours. Probably the constant sleep deprivation.” Oh fuck. Has he been sitting here the whole time?
He doesn’t seem to need to be asked. “I was worried you’ll wake up and get scared. And I had a lot to think about.” That is one hell of a lifeless chuckle. You really need to get up and leave. Where is your handbag?
“Can we talk before you leave, Wren?” His voice is emotionless, raspy.
“We have nothing to discuss.”
“I believe we do. Would you please listen to me?” There is no begging, no emotional tension, just tiredness in his tone.
“You have two minutes.”