shuhaige
Chapter 12: 12
Chapter 12: 12
“I can call us a pizza or something. What do you fancy?” He completely blanks my suggestion about leaving me here, and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to go or if he thinks I can’t be trusted, and the second he leaves I will hightail it back to a nightclub. I watch his face for a second to analyze which it may be and see only the calm relaxed response of a dude who is happy where he is.
“Pizza sounds good, pepperoni, and no anchovies.” I lift my foot and try to nudge him with my toe, but he just catches my ankle and lifts my leg a little too high to be comfortable and pokes me in the back of my knee, so I flinch. It has the same effect as a full-on tickle, and I yank my leg back in reaction with a jerk and an impulse to hit at him with the cushion I’m holding.
“Pizza it is. Any other requests before I call for a delivery?” He pulls my legs off his lap and pushes them to the floor in an easy movement, so I have no choice but to sit up. He slides forward and pulls his phone from somewhere down beside his butt, maybe his pocket, and seems intent on scrolling his contacts. Knowing him, he has every fast food joint within a twenty-mile radius saved. When he’s not on a super tight eating regime, Arrick likes to pig out as much as me. We could be crowned queen and king of takeout, much to Natasha’s annoyance. She is always so freaking picky about his health regime and often calls me a bad influence on his lack of self-discipline when he should be cutting pounds to stay in his weight class of competing.
“Only that it’s supersized and hurries up.” I smile, lean in so my shoulder is against him and lay my head on his shoulder, defeated. I feel like closing my eyes and drifting off, but I know he’s serious about continuing the conversation from the car, and right now I don’t want to put him back in a closed off and distant mood over this. We hadn’t said much on the last leg of the journey here, as he left me alone with my thoughts to fully compose myself on that few minutes’ drive back here.
Arrick calls and places an order for a supersize pepperoni and cheese, side of coke and some fries, leaves his address and puts the phone on the table in front of him when he’s done. He stays leaning forward though, so I can stay how I am, sliding an arm through his and around that muscular upper
mass and cuddling in more. He leans in towards me too and kisses me on top of my head affectionately, staying a moment as though pondering something and just breathing slowly.
“So, guess we should get to the point and work this out.” He sighs heavily, keeping his chin against my forehead, and I move it a little to rub against the slight stubble coming through. An automatic reaction to a familiar embrace. He likes the clean-shaven look and being fair-haired means, he never really gets that dark shadow of stubble, but I can feel it under the surface, and I like how it grazes against my skin.
“You said you want to take me back home. I said yes. What else is there to talk about?” I sigh. I feel like there is nothing more I can add to what was said before. I can’t explain why I feel the way I do, and right now, sitting here with him, I don’t even feel that way. I feel calm and tired and unusually okay for once. I catch the tiny tensing of his muscle under my arms, a hint that he is trying to pick the right words before saying something and ruining this.
“Do you need help to stop drinking, Sophs? Is there more than alcohol that I should be concerned about?” He tilts his head down to mine so he can look me in the eye. I stay put, letting my gaze wander to his and gaze back confidently. I have nothing to hide, so I have no qualms about meeting his eyes dead on and locking focus.
“I don’t have a drinking problem. You can calm your worry pants on that front. And I have never … ever done drugs. You know how I feel about them.” I say it calmly, honestly and watch him take it in. He seems to relax a little, appraising my face.
“I still need to ask. I need to know, Sophs. I haven’t seen you sober for months. I don’t know how often you drink, or if partly you do because you can’t stop. I need you to be honest with me.” There is no anger in his voice, his soft almost normal tone urging me to open up and I shake my head lightly at him, moving my head from his shoulder to do so.
“I can handle not drinking. I’m not that bad. I drink to party, but I’ve gone days without it. I don’t think about reaching for a bottle when I’m sober or just chilling through the day if that’s what you’re worried about.” I frown at him, relaxing when that smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. A neon sign that he believes me. It’s not like I’m lying, I know I can walk away from a bottle of vodka and not touch it again if I want to. Alcohol isn’t the issue, it’s my own head and heart that is, and this constant bedfellow of deep loneliness. NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.
“Is this because of your past? Is all of this delayed reaction to what he did?” Arrick frowns at me, a tremor to his voice that betrays his emotions where that whole mess is concerned. Sometimes I think my past still affects him more than it affects me. He hates bringing it up, hates knowing that I lived through fourteen years of it and the look of pain on his face tells me it’s still as raw for him to process, even now. I couldn’t love him more if I tried, and the heartwarming ache seeing him this way, softens me more.
“No, I don’t think so. I still obviously have things about me that are because of that, but no … it’s not part of this.” I answer truthfully. Arrick slides his hand over my fingers on his arm and cups his around and between them, holding my hand. He pulls it up so he can splay my palm and kisses me in the center of it gently. Pushing my hand down onto his leg, still encircled in his. He sighs heavily and brings his eyes back to mine
“You need to stop all of it, you know that, right? If this is going to change, then going home, sobering up and staying that way for a while is what you need to do. This won’t work unless you can get your head screwed back on. None of this will help you.” He’s in paternal mode, looking at me in that understanding yet bossy way, and I start nodding in agreement, knowing that everything he is saying is true. A conclusion I already came to on my own, and tonight really was the final straw. Terry was the last one in a long line of disappointments and red flags that I’m just living in a repetitive cycle and going nowhere fast.
“I’m really at the end of this road … I mean it. This is not how I want to be anymore; I’m done.” I state it with fervor, locking him dead in the eye. Arrick leans in so we’re closer, nose to nose, and focuses those calm hazel eyes on my blue with a look of lightness.
“I believe you. I know you. Stubborn and headstrong and sometimes stupidly impulsive, but when you make a decision, Sophie, it is pretty hard to sway you at all. If you’re telling me that this ends here, tonight, that you want to go home and sort yourself out, then I’m with you. I believe you. I know you would never tell me just what I want to hear.” He glances across my face, letting go of my hand so he can brush my hair back and tucks it behind my ear tenderly, still close enough to breathe me in and I impulsively lean my head back against his shoulder.
“I’m tired. I just want to think about one step at a time and let it all go. Let the pieces start falling into place tomorrow.” I sigh pleadingly, fully fatigued as waves of exhaustion flow over me to remind me how dead on my feet I am and curl my legs up under me to get comfy.
“How about we just make like we used to? Pizza, a movie, and chill on the couch for the rest of the night. No talk of this until the drive tomorrow, just you and me. Batman and Robin!” He slides his arm out of mine and around my shoulders instead, hugging me tightly before getting up and leaving me on the seat to flop against the back. He walks around the back of it and heads towards the coffee machine in the kitchen.
“I like your way of thinking, but I get to pick the movie.” I smile to myself, turning in the seat to use the backrest as a chin prop instead. Staring at his strong wide back and watch as he kicks off his shoes in the kitchen and pushes them under the breakfast bar with a foot. He throws me a pained expression.
“Unicorns are out! Chick flicks are a maybe if there is at least comedy, but no full-on soppy bull. I don’t think I can handle you crying your eyes out to another Channing Tatum movie while I have to sit and
endure it.” Arrick pours us coffee, despite the machine not being finished and the smell fills the whole open-plan space warmly.
“His wife lost all memory of even knowing him, how did that not make you cry? It’s like if I woke up tomorrow and didn’t even know who you were. You would be desolate without my adoration!” I respond in outrage at his very clear inability to empathize with real tragedy. Arrick turns with a smirk, that hint of sarcasm in those wicked eyes.
“Remind me what would be bad about that!” He grins, obviously pleased with his witty come back, even when I try to throw a cushion across at him that barely reaches the entrance to the kitchen space.
“Asshole,” I pout, full-blown child mood making an appearance.
“Brat,” he responds in kind, with that usual title for me when we are being passive-aggressive in our behavior towards each another. I narrow my eyes threateningly and then sigh it away as I run a movie itinerary through my skull.