Page 102 of Bloom

I take off my apron, grab my bag and walk out the back door before James even has a chance to notice.

If he really loved me, if he really knew me, he’d never have asked me that question. Ryan was right. How were we ever going to last three years in different cities when he’s willing to believe I’d sleep with Martin?

I get to the house and take the steps two at a time. Ginny’s there, getting dressed to go out.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I don’t owe her an explanation. She’d be just as likely as any of them to throw out accusations. “Nothing,” I say, pulling my suitcase out from the closet. I begin throwing my clothes in.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” I wipe my tears away though more replace them immediately.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because your brother is an asshole.”

She nods and leaves the room.

Well, that was easy.

I finish one suitcase and go under the bed for the next. I hear pounding on the steps, a heavy tread coming fast, and in seconds James is there, blocking the light from the hallway with his frame. “You’re leaving?” he asks in astonishment.

“Yes,” I spit out, wiping my eyes hastily, but unable to stem the flow of tears.

“Why?” he asks. He actually looks confused, as if he wasn’t just in the restaurant a half hour ago accusing me of cheating on him.

“You believed him,” I reply. “You believed disgusting Martin over me. Just like everyone else did.”

“No I didn’t,” he argues. “I was just … it took me by surprise is all. He showed me the bikini he said you left on his floor! There weren’t a lot of alternative explanations.”

“But once I told you I hadn’t done it you should have believed me, and you didn’t.”

“Of course I did!” he shouts. “I just wanted to know why. I wanted it to make sense.”

“I. Saw. Your. Face!” I shout back, my words punctuated by sobs. “And there was complete skepticism written all over it! You did not fucking believe me!”

“Yes I did,” he insists. “I was just freaked out. I’ve got Ryan telling me you’ll sleep with him by the end of next month, and that picture of the two of you is all over the Internet.” He notes my surprise. “Yeah, I saw it. Did you really think I wouldn’t? And then Martin has this thing of yours and … it took my brain a minute to catch up. God, you’re killing me. Stop crying.” He tries to pull me into him and I push him off.

“No,” I hiss. “You don’t get to be the person who comforts me anymore.”

He pulls me back to him and this time he doesn’t let me bat him away. “Yes I do.”

“Let me go!”

“No,” he says. “And you’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to let one little misunderstanding ruin this, because I’m not going to let you.”

I try to knee him and in one fluid motion he has me thrown over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and is carrying me out of the room. “Put me down, asshole!” I shout, my fists pounding against his back.

“You better not hit me like that on the stairs,” he says calmly, “or you’ll kill us both.”

I ignore him, thrashing and crying and hitting him the entire way. We pass the living room, pass Ginny staring at us with wide eyes. He kicks open his bedroom door and shuts it, throwing me on the bed and falling on top of me before I can even think about scrambling away. He pins me down, his hands at my wrists, his heavy legs holding mine.

“I’m not letting you drive off like this, Elle,” he says stonily. “It’s nighttime and you’re upset.”

“Get off of me,” I hiss.

“Are you going to stay?”