I’m tired from a long flight and a stressful couple of months of cramming and packing in between all the studying I had to do to catch up with this school. They’re ahead of New York, and I had to spend my Christmas break doing homework more than celebrating. The only time off I even got was at his family party over Christmas; the rest was spent obsessing over getting our new home how we needed it to be.

I just wanted to walk in here and love it, feel like we were starting in a new love nest… but what I get is a slap in the face. An apartment replica of a time when I had no influence on the surroundings he existed in. A time when Arry was with another girl, and he had a whole future mapped out that didn’t include me. Where her shit taste and dull personality removed all the fun and sparkle from his existence, this somehow symbolizes a pre-Sophie time of Arrick’s love life.

“Baby?” Arry tries for another catch at my hand, and I move away prickly. Pushing some pebble display in a bowl away from the edge of a side table. It’s not even nice. I don’t even get what it’s for and don’t bother concealing the look of disgust at the tacky ornament from my face. I know I get more difficult when I’m tired, but Arry has no concept of the fact that you do not fuck with a woman’s interior design decisions!

“Don’t ‘baby’ me… Is this what you want? It’s like you got her to repeat your other apartment and take everything that’s me out of it.” A tear hits my eye, and I feel stupid. I’m ruining our first moments in Paris with a dumb fight because I’ve just had my feelings stomped on massively. Arry glances around again and comes back to me, seeming a little somber, hand reaching out carefully as though approaching a wild beast ready to pounce. He has the grace to at least look wary and a bit guilty.

“Our apartment!… I didn’t…”

I glare at him and don’t even let him finish.

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to lie down.” My tone is deflated and, obviously, emotion torn. Even though it’s brimming under the surface, I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to fight. I want to get away from him and clear my brain; maybe after a nap, it won’t feel this huge of a deal. I move to the door, which I remember is the master bedroom from the floor plans, further down the hall, but he’s fast and in front of me first.

“That’s not what I did. She was showing me a bunch of designs and shit, and you were stressed already. I just okayed a color palette and said to make it like our home. I didn’t ask her to leave out anything you picked… I swear. I just asked her to tone down all the sparkly, fluffy unicorn stuff so you could add your own later.” He’s completely serious, giving me puppy eyes, and I shake my head at him angrily.

Tone down the Sophie?!?!?! What the actual…

For the love of… Arghhhh

“What about the stuff I gave her? Things I wanted, things you agreed to? I GAVE HER THOSE! What about my feelings and choices, huh? What about the goddamn mood boards she made us fill up? And the items I bookmarked on websites! What the fuck was all that for? I spent weeks on those. Weeks I should have been studying instead of doing crap I clearly never needed to.” I’m closer to tears now he’s stopping me, hating this dumb, stupid room as he slides his arms around me slowly, cautiously. He’s annoyingly calm and treading lightly, but it makes me madder.

“I didn’t think she would disregard all that. I guess I never made it clear… Look, we can redecorate. We can start over if you hate it that much. I’ll call her and tell her I want everything you picked out. Pay her to do it all again.” He lowers his face to me to push his forehead to mine, the way he does when he’s trying to win me around or coerce me into making out. I shove him in the abs, making him flinch. Anger spikes from deep down inside me like a hot volcano suddenly letting rip.

Like I want that stupid bitch back pawing at him at every opportunity, just to disappoint me again. If she had spent more time listening than checking him out, we might not be having this conversation.

“You hate it all, don’t you? What I’ve done to your apartment?” I blink up at that oblivious expression, wounded that I’ve lived with him for a full year, and not once has he said, ‘Sophie, you have shit taste in décor, and I hate it.’ I wish he would have just been honest with me instead of this crap right here. If he had just said, ‘Sophie, less of the unicorns, and I fucking hate glitter,’ and given me some sort of heads up.

I’m crushed at this moment. My stomach and chest ache at the effort of trying not to bawl, and he’s being the infuriating emotionless calm self that makes me want to throat-punch him. He doesn’t get the depth of this issue right here.

“No… I love your little touches.” He looks insincere, with a tiny twinge in that sexy squared jawline that conceals a smile. He thinks I’m being dramatic, and my temper rises. The cute boy looks and soft hazel eyes are doing nothing for him right now. That smug little twinkle is a huge tell because he’s a bare-faced lying asshole!

“Oh my god… You do hate it!” I yell it at him, blanching, as I shove him away harder and the instant shock on his face goes from insincere to guilty as hell, increasing my rage. Stomping away, glaring hatefully, and I actually want to punch him in the head right now. It’s so close I can almost taste it.

“It’s not that I don’t like the fluffy cushions and three hundred identical throws… or the army of silver unicorns and excessive amounts of candles we never light, but…” It’s the slight tone of sarcasm that gets me. That hint of indulgent attitude and my temper heightens. He’s trying to be cute and sass me, confirming his dislike of all my décor choices.

Boy, does he have no clue who the sassy one is in this relationship?

“I swear, if you finish that sentence, I will hurt you.” I glare at him coldly, incensed, outraged that after a whole year, he’s coming out with this shit. An entire year of letting me fill our space with things I like… The truth comes out now! He stifles a smile because he thinks it’s cute when I get mad over ‘weird stuff’ and tries to avoid my glare as I erupt.

“You’re an asshole… you said you liked what I was adding to the apartment. You said I made it feel homelier and was bringing life to the place, making it cozy! You’re such a fucking liar.” I spit at him, trying to simmer my inner outbursts as I stomp over to the nearby bookcase. Seeing a row of old novels and vague titles that neither of us would ever read, I shove them back, so a couple falls behind the space, not caring if I’m being childish. I need a physical outlet, a form of venting. I’m wounded.

My boyfriend is one huge, lying dick head of a man who can go back to New York and leave me alone. He can take his ugly décor with him, and I can be done with both and be left alone here to make it as fucking sparkly, pink, unicorn infested as I like, and wallpaper with pink glitzy faux fur for all I care.

“I didn’t lie to you, baby. I do… I just like it when things are less… sparkly.”