She's tailing me into the apartment. It must be hard to keep up my pace in those tight leather pants - how does she move in those things? It must be hard to see with the smoke pouring out of my ears clouding her vision.

"Joanne, come on. Talk to me." At this particular moment I don't think i've ever been more angry in my life. I'm surprised my jaw unclenches enough for me to talk.

"Maureen, no. There is nothing to talk about. Just...don't." I storm into our room and slam the door. I start changing into my pajamas, even though I'm in no mood to sleep. My shirt is off and my bra is in my hand when Maureen opens the door and barges in. "Maureen! What the fuck?"

"Oh, come on," she says wryly. "Like I've never seen you with even fewer clothes on."

"Just leave me alone, okay?" I'm screaming now. I glance around the room, looking for something to throw at her. Picking up the shirt I've just taken off, I hurl it in her general direction. I'm furious, yes, but I don't want to hurt her. I love her too much to cause her any kind of pain. That's the kind of death grip she has on me. She knows exactly what to do to push every one of my buttons, but she also knows what to say so I can't stay mad - because she knows I love her more than anything. That scares the hell out of me. I've never loved anyone so deeply, especially not someone like Maureen, who most of the time confuses me and makes my head spin.

I hate being confused. I rely on things making sense. But I love her.

The level of my passion is new territory to me, and I often find myself worrying about what's going to happen next or what I'll do if she screws things up - or even worse, if I do. But being angry is easier than being scared, and so I am.

"Joanne, you have to let me explain!" She's trying again. She tosses the shirt back at me. "I think you need this more than I do, by the way." I'm still bare-chested, I realize, and I hastily pull my pajama top over my head.

"Why? Why should I let you explain anything? It seems perfectly obvious to me. You were flirting with the woman at the bar!" I should really be used to this by now, but it hurts every time, and every time it adds to my rising fear that one day she's going to find someone better looking or more exciting than me and walk out of my life forever.

"I was -"

"You were dancing with her!"

"I did -"

"You kissed her!"

"She was -"

"YOU GAVE HER OUR PHONE NUMBER!"

"I DIDN'T!" Now she's screaming, too. I'm surprised we haven't gotten kicked out of the apartment building yet.

"Well, fuck, Maureen! What the hell am I supposed to believe, then?" She just glares at me, grabbing a pair of sweat pants and walking out the room. She slams the door. I hear her walk into the bathroom and turn on the water.

I finish changing and collapse on the bed, sobbing. I'm too spent to do anything else. I'm not a crier - the last time I cried was at Angel's funeral, and that was over a year ago - but I don't know how much more of this I can take. I love this woman so much it hurts, and I reason that if I didn't love her, these kinds of situations wouldn't bother me so much. But she makes it nearly impossible sometimes.

After what feels like hours, she comes back into the room. I'm still lying there on the bed. I wish she would come over and hold me and wipe away my tears the way she did the last time I cried, but she stands stock-still next to the bed. She probably thinks I'll push her away if she gets too close - and who knows, I might.

"Joanne, listen to me." Her voice is softer now. "Maybe I did flirt with the woman at the bar, but I didn't mean anything by it."

"But you -"

"No. Listen. I'd had too much to drink. She was attractive and you were in the bathroom. But Joanne, you are so much more beautiful than she could ever be." I feel a tiny bit better, but I can't lose my reserve just yet.

"Do you think you can just sweet-talk me into -"

"Listen!" She is insistent if nothing else. "We were talking, and she told me her husband had just left her after a really ugly separation. She was drunk and upset, and she asked if I wanted to dance. I tried to tell her no, but she grabbed me and dragged me onto the dance floor. I decided to humor her with one dance because I felt bad for her and, well, you really shouldn't make a drunk woman mad." She has a point.

"But you still -" She holds up a hand to shut me up.

"The song ended and I started to walk away, but she grabbed me and kissed me. I didn't kiss her back, but I didn't pull away as fast as I should have." I stare at her meaningfully. "I was drunk! My reaction time was slowed! She tasted like cheap wine and lipstick, and she was a terrible kisser. You taste so much better, Joanne, I swear." How is it that she always manages to chip away at my anger like this?

"Still you -" She doesn't acknowledge my interruption this time.

"She got really upset, started crying, and I told her it sounded like she could use a good lawyer, so I gave her your card."

I open my mouth and close it again, and I can't help but feel like a fish. "I - I..."

"Joanne, I need to tell you something." I don't know how many more revelations I can take before my brain explodes. "I don't...do what I do...to drive you crazy or because I don't love you. It's because I love you." I'm beyond confused. "I love you so much, but sometimes I wonder if you're losing interest in me. If I flirt and you get jealous, then I know you aren't yet."

Me? Lose interest in her? "I had no idea." How could Maureen, my phoenix, my amazon, ever think that I would lose interest in her?

"...And I've never loved anyone the way I love you. I've never...I've never needed anyone so much. I've never felt this way before and I -" She looks down at her hands. "I'm scared."

My eyes about pop out of my head. The last time Maureen admitted to being scared was when we were watching some horror movie and she offhandedly remarked that it was going to give her nightmares. I don't think she even thinks I noticed, let alone remember. More than that, I realize, we both feel the same way. We're both afraid to get close and get hurt.

A tear escapes Maureen's eye and runs down her cheek. She's trying not to let any more out, but one by one, more tears fall until I can't separate them out anymore. My breath hitches. I have never, ever seen Maureen cry. All of a sudden I feel like a first-class bitch.

"Oh, honey," I say, opening my arms. "Come here." She clambers onto the bed and burrows into my arms. I stroke her long, gorgeous curls. They're soft, like velvet.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out. "I never meant -"

"Shh, I know. It's okay. Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

"I love you so much, Joanne," she says drunkenly, except by now she's drunk on tiredness and her tears instead of the alcohol. "I only cheated on Mark the one time, you know," she continues. "And if it hadn't been for the one time, we never would have met." I know this already. She knows that I know this already. But in situations like these, she has to remind me.

"I know. And baby, it's okay to be scared. I'm scared too. But we're scared together, and we love each other. I love you more than anything, Maureen. That's what's important." I feel her nod against my chest. There's a moment of silence. "My baby," I murmur. She sighs contentedly from somewhere deep in her chest, and it's the best song I've heard all night. The sound vibrates against me and I shiver, but I've never been further from cold. "I'll never lose interest in you," I say, and it's soft and fierce at the same time.

"Promise you'll never leave me?" she asks, looking up at me. Her eyes are pleading.

"Promise," I say, and I kiss her. We only break away when the need for oxygen overrides our passion. I shift and lie on my back, and she rests her head back on my chest, tucked under my chin. It's her favorite way to sleep.

And then I realize that, no matter what she may do during the day, I'm the only one who knows her favorite way to sleep. I'm the only one who knows that scary movies give her nightmares. Only I know her middle name and the one spot where she's ticklish; only I know which places to touch her so that she'll scream and sigh and beg for more. Besides, she's the only one who can calm me down when I'm nervous. Only she knows exactly what to do on the rare occasions that I'm sick. She's the only one - myself included - who can sense the precise moment that I need to take a break from work, whether I'm home or not. And she is the only person who knows how to work her fingers so that I'm hot, sweaty, and ecstatic beyond belief. I need her just as much as, if not more than, she needs me. I'd be totally lost without her. She understands me. I don't always understand her, but we're both fluent in the language of love, so everything always works out in the end.

Maureen purrs and snuggles closer to me. I can't tell whether she's awake or not, but I tighten my grip around her. I'm never letting this one go.

I can't remember what I'd been mad about, but as I bury my face in her hair and inhale the surprisingly endearing citrus-leather pants-dance club smell that encompasses her, I realize it really doesn't matter.

I love her. That's enough.