Because You Said Forever
Part 19
I slump against the wall, sobbing brokenly. I hear Joe’s bedroom door slam across the hall.
At least he’s not going on that date, I think pathetically. I hold my breath and listen closely, wondering what he’s going to do. I hear something crash. Clearly, he’s furious and I’m just glad he didn’t actually hurt me more than he did. I rub the red spot where he was gripping my arm and whimper painedly.
I stay in the bathroom until I get control of my breathing and crying. My legs are shaking and my breath is short and choppy, but I can handle myself. Nervously, I step out of the bathroom. Joe’s bedroom door is open, and I hear him banging around in the kitchen. I shuffle into my bedroom and close the door, leaning my back against it and sighing.
I fall onto my bed, hugging a pillow. I bring my legs up to my chest, and drift off.
***
When I wake up, the apartment is silent. A buzzing sound is whirring in my head, and I realize after a couple seconds that the television is on. Joe is still home. I’m debating whether to go out and get some food, because I’m starving, or stay in my room all night. Neither option would do me much good.
Nervously rubbing my arm, I shuffle through the small hallway. I don’t look at Joe, who’s watching television on the couch, as I pass by him. He looks up at me but I can’t make out his facial expression, because I turn my head quickly and walk into the kitchen.
Still shaking, I fix myself a sandwich. I pull the bread down from the basket on top of the fridge. I take a can of mayonnaise and put it on th counter. I pull a knife out of the drawer and place it on the counter. My arm is visibly shaking. I place the knife on the counter and open the cabinet underneath it, looking for a can of tuna. I can’t find any as I’m raiding the cabinet. I saw Joe buy some the other day, but I’m scared to ask him where it is. I take a shallow breath before I grow the balls to call “Joe?”
“What?” he asks, not looking at me but there’s no anger in his voice.
“Where’s the t-tuna?”
“In the cabinet under the counter,” he says gruffly, still not looking at me.
“I just checked there. It’s not there.”
Joe grumbles and gets up off the couch, dragging his feet as he walks into the kitchen. I stand out of his way as he opens the cabinet himself and looks around. “Did you eat it all?” he asks.
“N-no.”
He closes the cabinet and opens another one. “Here it is,” he says immediately, passing me the small can. I swallow as I take it from him.
“Thanks.” I turn around to place the tuna on the counter, and he slinks an arm around me from behind. I hold my breath, but continue to make my sandwich. His touch makes my body freeze up.
“Nickie? Are you okay?” he asks, running a hand through my hair gently, as if he forgot the events that unfolded just hours before. I duck and his hand slips out of my hair and I push his arm off me. He whines my name. “I’m sorryyy--” he whimpers, drawling out the words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got carried away.” He pouts and looks at me apologetically like a child.
“Sure you did,” I mumble, spreading the tuna on one slice of bread and mayonnaise on the other.
“Are you mad at me?” he whimpers while I put the bread slices together and shove the knife through it.
“Gee, I don’t know. You practically beat me up,” I grumble grudgingly. I turn away from the counter with my sandwich to retrieve a plate from the cabinet.
“Nickie... I didn’t mean it, I got carried away, and I’m so sorry.” He gives me a look that begs for forgiveness.
“I’m going back to my room,” I state after I’ve pulled a plate down, and I brush past him, shutting myself up in the safe confines of my bedroom.
At least he’s not going on that date, I think pathetically. I hold my breath and listen closely, wondering what he’s going to do. I hear something crash. Clearly, he’s furious and I’m just glad he didn’t actually hurt me more than he did. I rub the red spot where he was gripping my arm and whimper painedly.
I stay in the bathroom until I get control of my breathing and crying. My legs are shaking and my breath is short and choppy, but I can handle myself. Nervously, I step out of the bathroom. Joe’s bedroom door is open, and I hear him banging around in the kitchen. I shuffle into my bedroom and close the door, leaning my back against it and sighing.
I fall onto my bed, hugging a pillow. I bring my legs up to my chest, and drift off.
***
When I wake up, the apartment is silent. A buzzing sound is whirring in my head, and I realize after a couple seconds that the television is on. Joe is still home. I’m debating whether to go out and get some food, because I’m starving, or stay in my room all night. Neither option would do me much good.
Nervously rubbing my arm, I shuffle through the small hallway. I don’t look at Joe, who’s watching television on the couch, as I pass by him. He looks up at me but I can’t make out his facial expression, because I turn my head quickly and walk into the kitchen.
Still shaking, I fix myself a sandwich. I pull the bread down from the basket on top of the fridge. I take a can of mayonnaise and put it on th counter. I pull a knife out of the drawer and place it on the counter. My arm is visibly shaking. I place the knife on the counter and open the cabinet underneath it, looking for a can of tuna. I can’t find any as I’m raiding the cabinet. I saw Joe buy some the other day, but I’m scared to ask him where it is. I take a shallow breath before I grow the balls to call “Joe?”
“What?” he asks, not looking at me but there’s no anger in his voice.
“Where’s the t-tuna?”
“In the cabinet under the counter,” he says gruffly, still not looking at me.
“I just checked there. It’s not there.”
Joe grumbles and gets up off the couch, dragging his feet as he walks into the kitchen. I stand out of his way as he opens the cabinet himself and looks around. “Did you eat it all?” he asks.
“N-no.”
He closes the cabinet and opens another one. “Here it is,” he says immediately, passing me the small can. I swallow as I take it from him.
“Thanks.” I turn around to place the tuna on the counter, and he slinks an arm around me from behind. I hold my breath, but continue to make my sandwich. His touch makes my body freeze up.
“Nickie? Are you okay?” he asks, running a hand through my hair gently, as if he forgot the events that unfolded just hours before. I duck and his hand slips out of my hair and I push his arm off me. He whines my name. “I’m sorryyy--” he whimpers, drawling out the words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got carried away.” He pouts and looks at me apologetically like a child.
“Sure you did,” I mumble, spreading the tuna on one slice of bread and mayonnaise on the other.
“Are you mad at me?” he whimpers while I put the bread slices together and shove the knife through it.
“Gee, I don’t know. You practically beat me up,” I grumble grudgingly. I turn away from the counter with my sandwich to retrieve a plate from the cabinet.
“Nickie... I didn’t mean it, I got carried away, and I’m so sorry.” He gives me a look that begs for forgiveness.
“I’m going back to my room,” I state after I’ve pulled a plate down, and I brush past him, shutting myself up in the safe confines of my bedroom.