Axel didn't answer.
I stepped closer, not able to help my tone but to keep it low. "What experience?"
He finally looked at me. There was pain in his eyes, but also distance. Cold. Like he'd built walls I hadn't even noticed.
"The kind that teaches you not to trust too easily," he shrugged dully. "The kind where you walk into a room and hear laughter and…" He stopped. Shook his head. "Forget it. I don't want to talk about this."
Argh, not again!
"No." I grabbed his arm. "You don't get to throw something like that and then walk away. Say it. Say what you're thinking."
"I'm tired, María José."
"Then say it tired," I snapped, tears rising without permission. "But don't stand there and imply that I'm unfaithful. That I'm some slut who laughs with her lovers when her husband's back is turned."
He flinched. It was subtle, but I saw it. A tic in his jaw. And what I liked to call; a crack in the armor.
"I didn't call you a slut," he muttered.
"No, but you thought it."
"I didn't…"
