Diving Deep (UK Crush #2)

Chapter 16

After being questioned by Aunt Rebecca about the pattern for the overalls, I headed into the house to use the restroom. When I opened the door, Teddy was waiting for me, and he seemed upset about something.

"Why do you do that?" he asked without preamble as I stepped out into the hallway.

"Do what?" I asked.

"Put yourself down," he said, drawing his eyebrows together again, showing that line that I hated so much.

"What?" I said. "When did I put myself down?"

"You were going to let everyone think you bought those things you made. You weren't going to take credit for your own work. You do that all the time." His voice was getting kind of loud, and he lowered it, moving closer to compensate. "When we were in Japan, you didn't even tell us you could play the piano for ages. Or that you could swim. How many times have I asked you if there's anything you can't do?" He looked around, then looked back at me. "I'm only half joking, you know. You belittle yourself, that's what it is." He took another step closer to me.

"You are an amazing person. But it's like you're ashamed of yourself or something. I don't know why. But I hate it, I really do. You lack self confidence about everything, for no reason." He took yet another step in my direction, and raised his hand toward me. I flinched, and he stopped, all the blood draining from his face.

"Birdie, did you think I was going to hit you?" He asked in a shocked voice. "Did you? Answer me, dammit."

I backed up against the wall, feeling about as bad as I could remember feeling, ever. Fuck. I didn't know what to say or do. I looked down, utterly bereft of speech.

"Birdie. Look at me."

I couldn't. Could. Not.

"Look. At. Me." A very soft voice. "I'm going up to our room. Please follow me. We need to talk about this." I heard his footsteps walking away.

Fuck. How had things gotten so out of hand so quickly? I took a deep breath, went upstairs, and turned the knob to our room, entering with downcast eyes.

He was sitting on the bed, Indian style, looking terrible. That look was my fault. I would not cry. Would not cry. I sighed and sat down on the bed.

He took a breath, and to my horror, his face crumpled from anger to devastated sorrow. He looked like he was going to cry. "It's never going to go away, is it?" He asked in a low voice. "You're never going to forget, you're never going to be able to forget that I hit you. Even though you've forgiven me, you'll always wonder when you see my hand coming toward your face, especially if we're having words, whether or not I'm going to hit you or slap you or something." He rubbed his face with his hands. "Fuck me," he said.

I stared at him, moving to sit on the bed. "No," I said. "Is that what you think? That I thought you were going to hit me because of what happened in Japan?" I reached for him, but he pulled away from me.

"Of course," he said, wiping at his eyes with his T-shirt. "You said so yourself the other day." At my look of confusion, he said, "You said that after the fight, you felt 'uneasy' around me."

"Oh my god," I said to the room at large. "We misunderstand each other so fucking much, it's a miracle we communicate at all sometimes."

I moved toward him, way into his personal space, reaching for his hands so he couldn't move away. "I was talking about what you said about me, about how you threw my words in my face in front of the boys, not about when you threw the punch. I didn't feel like I could talk to you, like I could trust you with my thoughts and my feelings. It had nothing to do with this." I gestured to my jaw.