Sweet Poison *Updated every Friday @ 1PM*

Fourteen

Two weeks was long enough for me to realize the mistake I'd made.

When I stormed out of Liam's Brooklyn apartment there had been too many emotions going on inside me. The part of my brain I depended on to make logic available to me had been deactivated by all the conflicting, confusing feelings storming inside my head. Couldn't think straight.

I hadn't given him time to give me money to put me in a cab.

I knocked once, gave the door three quick taps. Then I noticed his doorbell. Within seconds of pushing it he was standing in front of me on the other side of the threshold. Shirtless. Wearing only a pair of gray slim-fitting sweatpants. He was barefoot and confused to see me. His expression said it all.
I hadn't second-guessed showing up to his place unannounced until then.

"I have a wife."

He sounded rugged like he'd just had a cigarette, but I didn't smell that Marlboro stench. I smelled something zesty, something fresh. Soap.

"I know that."

"And you thought it was cool to just show up like this?"

I shrugged. "It's not like I could have called you or anything. The only number I have of yours is this address."

He looked off to the side, shook his head and scoffed when his gaze settled on my features again.
Okay. Maybe he was pissed to see me standing outside his door.

"She didn't matter when you had me on your bed."
I thought I was making it better. But the way he scowled at me was more than enough to let me know I'd only made it worse.

"Kassandra, let's get something straight here."
He took a step closer to me, stood directly underneath the doorframe, holding the heavy door with one hand. I fought not to take a reflective step back as the smell of his obviously recent shower rushed up my nostrils.

"This is my home. It might not be perfect but it's mine. I make the rules. You don't just show up, alright? It doesn't work that way."

The way he spoke to me wasn't pleasant. He didn't use that low, dignified guttural voice is come acquainted to hearing from him. His tone was sharp. He made me feel like a child.

He stared me down while his words settled in the air. I dropped my eyes, wanting to either cry or throw myself in his arms. Part of me was hurt by the way he scolded me. Another part still ached to feel his lips on mine. I couldn't shut down the monster the passion between us awakened. I still wanted to kiss him.

"You understand?"

"I think so," I whispered.

"What if she answered the door?"

There was still an edge to his voice. It was obvious the she he was referring to was the wife.
I shrugged and looked up at him. "Then I would have pretended I got off the elevator on the wrong floor."

I got it. My exit the last time we'd been together was anything but graceful. It hadn't even been mutual. I just hoped he'd been thinking about me as much as I had been thinking about him for the thirteen days that stood between that moment and the one where I flew out of his apartment.

I forced myself not to fidget. "Are you home alone?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "Yes."

"When are you expecting her?"

"Not for a couple days."

We stared. His expression was stoic and impenetrable. It gave me no inclination to what he was thinking, feeling.

I touched my hair. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"What are you..." He stopped, jerked his head back and forth, struggled. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to talk."