“You don’t show someone you care about them by fucking them, Summer.” Tony growled, moving his eyes back to the TV just to piss her off more. “And if you remember correctly I did sit here and reassure you. Or are we just not counting the time I listened to you complain about those bitches?” He crossed his arms and moved as far away from her as possible. “Are we just not counting that because you didn’t get what you wanted in the end?”
It hadn’t been enough, and she didn’t know why it hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t even because he said no to sex — waiting was familiar, was normal. His anger was painful. Was that why it wasn’t enough? Anger was rejection, was denial, was being unwanted.
Except he’d said she should come back. Could come back. It wasn’t go away forever.
But it /hurt/. The pain swelled up her throat and bent her spine into an arc backwards, sliding twitches through her muscles. Her legs trembled, and her arms, and she bit her tongue on a whimper.
Tony ignored the sound coming from Summer and kept watching TV. She had this idea that Tony would always want to have sex. He would happily admit that it was usually on his mind but sometimes he’d rather just sit around and talk. He stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen and pulled out another beer. He drained it quickly before pulling out another and returning to the couch.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe, and she couldn’t move, and her limbs wouldn’t stop shaking, and Tony was oblivious. He probably thought she was faking, to get his attention. The thought cut like a blade.
One spasm released her, and she dragged in a breath, and then the next was seizing her muscles, cording ligaments and tendons against her olive skin. “Help,” but she wasn’t sure the sound made it past her own head.