Not over yet

Emma carefully balanced two mugs of tea as she pushed the bedroom door open with her hip. The room was dark, the curtains still drawn against the morning light. She expected to see Tom sitting up, maybe scrolling through his phone, instead he was buried deep under the duvet, dead to the world, his breathing slow and rhythmic.

She set the tea down on the nightstand, letting the steam rise into the stale air, and watched him for a moment. He deserved a better girlfriend who did not make so many mistakes as she had been recently.

*No,* she thought, steeling herself. *Today is the day. We need boundaries. Things can't keep going like this with Ben.*

She turned around, her slippers making no noise softly as she walked toward the lounge. She could hear the familiar, aggressive sounds of a shooter game before she even reached the doorway.

Ben was sprawled on the couch, his legs hitched up next to him. He was hunched over, thumbs flying across the controller, eyes locked on the screen with intensity. He didn’t even acknowledge her entrance.

"We need to talk," Emma said, trying to infuse her voice with authority.

He didn't blink. He just grunted, his character in the game taking cover behind a wall while he scanned the horizon. "Can't. In the middle of a match," he said, his voice clipped and dismissive.

Emma took a step closer, her frustration spiking. "This is important, Ben. I’m trying to set some ground rules here. We can’t keep..."

"Yeah, yeah, you're trying to be a good girl and keep things normal," he interrupted, his tone mocking as he executed a precision reload on screen. "Look at you, all worked up. You're blocking my peripheral, babe. Move."

His blatant disregard for her intent set her nerves on fire. She hated how easily he could make her feel insignificant, and yet, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the flex of his forearm muscles as he manipulated the sticks. She wanted him to listen to her, but more than that, she wanted his full, undivided attention, even if she had to fight for it on his terms.

"You're not listening," she snapped, stepping directly into his line of sight.

Ben finally shifted his gaze from the screen, looking up at her with a lazy, challenging smirk. "If you want my attention so bad, quit yapping and pick up the controller. Let's see if you can actually keep up."

She hesitated, her conscience screaming at her that this was a bad idea, that this was the opposite of "boundaries." But the thrill of the challenge was already taking root. With a huff of exasperated defeat, she reached down, grabbed the second controller from the floor, and dropped onto the couch beside him.

She wasn't trying to talk anymore. She was trying to prove herself to him. As she fumbled with the buttons, feeling the weight of the controller in her hands, she could feel the heat radiating off Ben.

"Don't fuck it up," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, his attention returning to the game but his body now entirely claimed by her presence. She stared at the screen, her heart hammering, knowing she had just walked straight into his trap, and for reasons she couldn't explain, she didn't want to leave.