Burning Out

54- doctor

I don't know why I'm not just calming his suspicions and nerves straight away, maybe I'm just being stubborn and petty, but I feel the fire inside of me pushing me to do it.

He stays quiet for a few moments, studying my face to see if he can catch onto my lie. I try my best to remain plain so I don't give anything away. I watch as his bottom lip rolls into his mouth out of frustration because he can't work me out.

I tilt my head to the side, urging him to speak.

"How incredibly smart of you," he jokes, and yet neither of us found any humour in it.

"Thanks, he really enjoyed finding out about all of the cafés and things we went to," I smile sarcastically, hearing Otis shuffle in his seat awkwardly as he watches the interaction.

"Oh really? Any café in particular?" he asks, shaking his head at me slightly.

I really can't believe he's being this patronising right now. We've come so far since we last had an argument and now it's happening over something stupid.

Actually, it's not stupid. He doesn't trust me. I don't want to spend the majority of my time with someone who doesn't even trust me.

"Guys, I think I'm going to go," Otis suddenly speaks, hesitancy leading his words.

We both look at him at the same time, my face portraying sympathy whereas Leonardo's is overjoyed.

"What a shame," Leonardo sighs sarcastically, "Bye Otis."

Leonardo immaturely waves at him the whole time as Otis pulls out his wallet and drops some money on the table, glancing at us both warily one final time before exiting the café.

"What the fuck, Leonardo?" I suddenly spit out once he's gone.

"Me? Why's this on me?" he bites back as he gets up and swaps into the seat across from me.

"Because you just marched in here and started being an asshole!"

"I'm not the one who told him about all of our private shit," he whisper-shouts, being aware of his surroundings at least.

"I didn't tell him anything! Of course I didn't!" I reply back with a mirrored tone and whisper.

He pauses his movements, eyebrows furrowing down his face as he looks at me blankly again.

"You didn't?"

"No, obviously I didn't tell him about any of the real things we did in Paris," I sigh in exasperation, leaning into my seat and looking to the side, crossing my arms angrily over my chest.

"Then why did you say you did?"

"I didn't, that was you," I correct obstinately.

"Well, you didn't deny it," he shrugs, desperately trying to grasp onto any more shreds of context so he can understand the situation.

"Yeah, because you had no trust in me! You really believed I would tell him all of that?" I shake my head, an unnamed feeling filling my chest.

"Can you blame me? That would've ruined everything," he replies selfishly.

I glance back at him with hurt starting to pang through my chest as I repeat my earlier point. "I can't believe you don't trust me."

He glances down to the table between us as his brain runs over his thoughts before looking back to me with a look that I try to decipher. There's the tiniest bit of regret or guilt lingering, but then again I could just be imagining it. There's no proof that he's even capable of feeling those things.