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the opportunity. I know you’re pissed and you don't
want me here." I finally turn to look at him, only to give him a knowing
look. He doesn't give into my tantrum and continues his lecture. “Ok, well, I
thought maybe I'd get some resistance with that one, but whatever. Point is,
clearly I was wrong and this is something that we need to discuss.”
    “Fine, talk.”
    He closes his eyes and shakes his head,
and I know I’m irritating the shit out of him. “Are you going to be like this
the whole time?”
    “Um, yeah." I nod. "Most
likely.”
    “You are being ridiculous, you know that,
right?”
    I roll my eyes, because I'm not in the
mood to listen to him, let alone stay in the same place with him. I stand from
the couch and head to the bedroom to change my clothes to make my point. He
watches as I walk from the room, standing to follow after. I try to shut the
door, but he catches it before I can stop him.
    “I already told you, we're not going
anywhere until we’ve sorted this out.”
    “What are you gonna do? Lock me in the
apartment?”
    “Maybe.” He shrugs. “The way I figure, if
you leave, you’re only going to go see Joss or call that girl from work, and
tell them what you’re pissed about. So you might as well stay here and tell
me.”
    I’m not about to cave and talk because he’s
ready; I need time. “I have some work to do,” I say as I move past him and head
to the computer. “So, your plan backfired.” I pull out the documents containing
everything for the T.M. event and set about getting my work done, hopeful he’ll
leave me alone.
    I think he’s impressed with my
stance because there’s a flash of shock in his eyes. “That’s fine, Em. You
work, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He makes a show of moving to the
couch and grabbing the remote to turn on a movie. The volume is turned up to an
annoying level, but I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me so I choose to
ignore it.
    The stubbornness both of us are
displaying is fast becoming a game to see who can top the other. I still won’t
say a word to him and opt instead to up the ante by turning up the volume on my
computer so I can hear my playlist better. To make it a little more maddening,
I select a band that I know he hates and sing along, way off key and missing
words. At this point, I know I’m not really getting any work done, not that I
was going to get much done anyway, but I’m finding this charade increasingly
entertaining.
    Ryan gets up from his seat on the couch
and I’m sure that I’ve won, until he goes to the kitchen and turns on the
faucet. I don’t have to look to know that he’s not washing anything; he just
knows how much I hate water going to waste. I contemplate my next move, now
that it’s my turn to make him squirm, so I do the only thing I can think of. I
stand up and start walking to our bedroom and just before I get through the
door, I take my shirt off, toss it to the couch and pause for only a moment to
take off my bra and when I look back at him, the shock on his face tells me I
just won. I rush into the room as I see him start to head in my direction and
lock the door behind me.
    I slide down the door until I’m sitting
and reach for my t-shirt that’s lying on the floor. No doubt it’s dirty, but
I’m too tired and hung-over to care. With my head resting on my knees, I try to
relax and gather my thoughts. Sparring with Ryan is daunting, but being more
stubborn than usual is making this day a little more tolerable. In the solace
of our room, I use the time to reorganize my drawers, shuffling things around,
even though it makes no sense. Every so often, Ryan knocks and asks if he can
come in, which I respond to by turning the radio up a little louder.
    “Mature, Em,” I hear him huff on the
other side.
    He’s right; there’s nothing mature about
the way I’m acting and yet, he’s still here. He wants to talk and I guess I
need to be open to the conversation. I turn the music