01-AJ Lynch

The rain was battering the windscreen like it had a vendetta, but it was nothing compared to the way her voice was cutting through the air between us. “You never feckin’ listen, AJ!” “I do listen! You just don’t like what I have to say!” I snapped, hands clenching the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding me back from losing it completely. She scoffed, arms crossed so tight I thought she might snap in two. Her legs were tucked up on the seat, mascara smudged, hair a mess from the wind—but Christ, even furious, she was beautiful. Even screaming at me, she was mine. “This isn’t about you bein’ right or wrong,” she shouted. “It’s about how you make me feel like I don’t matter sometimes!” That shut me up. The silence hit like a punch. I looked over at her, heart thrashing against my ribs. “You matter more than anythin’, and you fucking know it.” “Do I?” Her voice cracked. “Because every time I tell you something, you get defensive or act like I’m overreacting. Like I’m too much.” I turned in my seat. “You are too much,” I said, and her whole body went stiff. “But I love that about you. I love that you don’t let shite slide. I love that you scream when something’s wrong.” “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she scoffed. My hands were shaking. Not from anger—from panic. The kind I didn’t let anyone see. Except her. “I’m not good at this,” I muttered. “Relationships. Talkin’. Whatever this is.” “Well, figure it out,” she said, biting her lip. “Because I’m not gonna keep begging to be heard.” I looked at the space between us, like there was a line drawn that neither of us wanted to cross. “Do you wanna leave?” I asked. She blinked. “What?” “If you hate me that much, just leave.” “I didn’t say I hate you.” “You don’t have to.” “Don’t put words in my mouth!” she shouted, slamming her hand against the dash. “You always do that! Twist everything so you can feel sorry for yourself!” My jaw clenched. “I’m tryin’, alright? Tryin’ so fuckin’ hard to be better. But you act like I’m already the villain.” “Because sometimes you are!” That stung. And I probably deserved it. “I’d rather die than hurt you.” She was quiet then. Looking at me like she didn’t know whether to cry or slap me. “I don’t wanna fight anymore,” she whispered. “But I can’t keep wondering if I’m just another one of your problems.” “You’re not,” I said, reaching for her hand. She didn’t pull away. “You’re the only thing that ever made sense.” Her lip quivered. “Then act like it.” “I will.” But she yanked her hand back. “No. You always say that. Then the second I call you out, it’s back to the same shite.” “Because you don’t give me time! You go off like a feckin’ firework before I get a chance to breathe.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” she snapped. “I forgot you needed a feckin’ permission slip to treat me like I matter!” “That’s not what I said!” I shouted, banging my hand off the steering wheel. “Stop twisting my words!” “I’m not twisting them, I’m hearing them! You just don’t like the mirror I’m holding up!” I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re a feckin’ brick wall! You’d rather watch us burn than say sorry first.” “I do say sorry!” She laughed—bitter and sharp. “Not when it counts.” “Well maybe if you stopped screamin’ for two seconds—” “Oh, my screaming is the problem now?” I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. This was spiralling. But I couldn’t stop. “I’m trying, alright? Maybe I’m not perfect like you, but I show up. I love you.”