Enemies with Benefits

Chapter Twenty-Six

I stared at the three words long enough that my eyes burned and began to water. I rubbed at them, my mascara blotchy on the back of my hand and surely the same on my cheeks. I was only vaguely aware of time continuing to pass around me when I heard the screech of the shower shutting off, yet I still couldn't find it in me to get up from the floor where I'd kept my sore ass planted.

In a fit of confusion and unsettled feelings, I stared at the couch where Caleb had been sitting. I hadn't the slightest idea of what he'd been dreaming about or what had set him off, but what I did know was that we needed to talk. I was done skimming over the topic, but I knew it was going to be a fight. He wasn't ready to talk about it, which was clear by his text, but I had a slimy feeling in my gut he may never be.

I stared at the words another minute, watching them blur on the illuminated screen. My fingers tapped absently on the planes of my phones edge. The moment I heard the bathroom door open, it was a conscious effort not to jump and run for the door as my mind was screaming at me to do. I needed to know what happened. I needed to understand.

I felt it then and blinked. I didn't turn or give way to any notice that I was even paying attention to where Caleb was. But I knew. I felt his glare. My back was burning as painfully as my eyes, the painstaking daggers spearing from his gaze easy to feel without needing to look.

"What the fuck are you still doing here? I told you to leave." Caleb's voice was filled with grit, but I couldn't tell if it was in anger or something else.

My neck pivoted in the slightest, just enough to see him in the corner of my eye. He'd walked out of the bathroom in a hoodie, sweats, and socks—more covered up than I'd ever seen him in the comfort of his own home. I felt my mouth tip downward at one corner in slight confusion, though I wasn't sure why I'd subconsciously done it.

They were just clothes to be worn, after all.

"I wanted to talk about what—"

"I know what you want to talk about, Rachel, and I told you I'd tell you when I was ready. Obviously, I'm not. So get the hell out."

"You just freaked out, Caleb. You can talk to me." I tried to keep my voice as even as I could, disregarding the panic I felt rising as I knew the fight I wasn't ready for was coming.

"Yeah? Because you've been so forthcoming about shit? I know you're still holding something back from me too."

I flinched. I'd hoped I wasn't so easy to read. I should've known better.

"That's what I thought. You're pushing me to do something you can't do yourself. Get over yourself, would you? I don't owe you anything, just like you don't owe me shit either. We're not together; you've said it yourself."

"I—"

"Leave," he spit the word, venom on his tongue.

I wanted to plant my ass deeper into the floorboards, surprising myself with the level of fight flowing where it was usually the opposite. There was a panic rising in me, sure, but it was all I had not to listen to it. Not to notice. For the first time, I sat and realized my own selfishness in wanting to run and not bother looking back. In wanting to leave on my own before he could leave me.

Because this time, amidst the nerve-wracking panic flooding my veins, I noticed the very same in his dark eyes. I recognized the look so simply, so easily, that I wondered how many times I'd missed it before now. How long had he tried to tell me whatever he was battling without knowing the words to do so?

"Caleb," I whispered, pushing in slow movements to stand. "Do you want me to leave because you want to be alone right now? Or because you believe I'll leave anyway if I hear why all that just happened?"