“Just fucking admit it, Gina!”
Your voice echoes through the apartment, raw and desperate. You’re standing across from each other, breathing hard, the space between you thick with tension.
Gina shakes her head, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re crazy, you know that? Always looking for something to fight about, always assuming the worst about me.”
You laugh, bitter and sharp. “Because you give me a reason to! You disappear for hours, you barely touch me anymore, and you think I’m just supposed to ignore it?”
Gina grabs a glass from the counter and hurls it against the wall. It shatters, pieces scattering across the floor.
You flinch but don’t back down.
She turns back to you, chest heaving. “I hate when you do this,” she growls “When you fucking push me like this.”
Your heart is pounding, adrenaline surging through you. “And I hate that you make me feel like I’m crazy when I know I’m right.”
Gina steps closer, her jaw clenched. “You don’t know shit.”
You step closer too, anger and something else burning in your veins “Then tell me I’m wrong.”
Her breathing is ragged. Your pulse is racing. You’re close enough to feel the heat off her skin, to see the way her hands shake—whether from anger or something else, you don’t know.
And then, suddenly—
Her lips crash into yours.
It’s messy, desperate, angry. Her hands are gripping your face, your fingers digging into her arms, both of you pulling, taking, needing. The fight is still there, burning between you, but neither of you cares.
Because this is what always happens.
Yell. Break things. Kiss like it’ll fix everything.
It never does.
But you do it anyway.