Strawberries
Breaking Down, Not Up.
When I get home from work, which was thankfully rather short today, you're still stumbling around like a drunken fool. Which you are. I have noticed recently that our fridge has been restocked with beer and I am finding bottles lying around the house. Behind the toilet, under your bed, behind the blender, and in your clothes drawer. Most of these I discovered because I'm the only one who cleans up around here. I never know where I'll find one next.
It's the evening and you're still lying on the couch, gazing at the blinking television and laughing childishly at the stupidest shit, making the silliest comments. You're a lot less trouble for me when you drink, so I never object to it. But the past couple months it seems like you can't even take a piss without having a bottle of beer with you. You'll be drunk a couple nights of the week, and the days when you don't drink is when you're going out that night. Can't be drunk for dates, can you? Usually you save one or two nights of the week for me, and your level of drunken-ness varies.
I look over at you and notice you're passed out again. Your head's back on the couch arm and your mouth is hanging open, your arm bent in a fashion that looks uncomfortable. The television is the only current source of light in the room. I stand up off the couch, not waiting for you to wake up again. Deciding on just letting you spend the night on the couch, I shuffle to my room and crawl into bed quietly. I can hear the distant hum of the television and it helps me get to sleep.
The next day's Wednesday and you're actually home. But you've brought one of your girls home with you. You pull me aside and tell me to stay out of your way tonight. I agree, as I'm about to cry. anything would be better than having to watch you two make out. It hurts enough to just see you with her.
You smile and link your arm in hers and you two go into the basement. I choke out a sob now that you can't hear me anymore. But you wouldn't care all that much anyway. I scrub my eyes and try to prevent any more tears from falling, but I'm still breathing in small gasps, choking between each one.
***
Seeing as you've neglected to make dinner, I pull a frozen pizza out of the freezer and have it cooked and ready in ten minutes time. I trot into the living room and set the plate of steamy pizza on the table. You always get angry when I get stains on the white couch cushions, so I simply flip the clean looking pillows over to reveal their stained undersides.
Flip, flip, flip.
I chow down on the pizza and eat the whole thing in less than ten minutes.
Flip, flip, flip.
The couch looks perfectly white again. I'm not full, though. I'm not hungry either, but food makes me feel a little less sad. My eyes are still stinging from crying and I just image you making out with whatever skank you brought home today. I slink under a blanket on the couch, lying on my side and gazing absently at the television. Eventually I need to close my burning eyes for a little relief and I drift off.
***
A door opens. Footsteps, giggling and laughing. I flutter my eyes open and look straight ahead. I don't want to look at you or her. You're laughing like idiots and it's bringing the tears back to my eyes. I struggle to take in a breath and let it out slowly. My chest hurts. I close my eyes as you walk behind the couch to get to the door.
"Sorry I can't spend the night, honey," she says.
"It's okay," you say and by the sounds I hear I assume you're kissing again. I choke back a sob and swallow, my mouth feeling dry. There's drool on the pillow my face is lying on. I slide my hands under it comfortably and gaze across the room, being forced to listen to the two of you making out.
The door finally closes and you yawn. It's just you now, and I let out a sob that I can't hold back anymore.
"Nick?"
I become silent, holding my breath as you come around the couch.
"Nickie, are you alright?" you rest a hand on my shoulder. I still but I can't hold my breath anymore and it comes out as a sob. "Nick?" you push against my shoulder an an attempt to turn me over. When that doesn't work, you walk around to the front of the couch and sit down. You lean towards me and hold me in your arms, cooing softly in my ear and raking my curls. Your arms make me feel cold and my body tremors as I sob again. I try to wrench out of your arms. You're not holding me tightly but I can't get away from you as I'm blindly wriggling. You sing in my ear and I automatically start to calm down. One of your arms is wrapped around my side and the other one is in my hair, with your mouth right next to my air as you sing ocapella.
When I finally give up on getting out of your grip, you stop singing and ask me "What's wrong, Nicky, baby?"
"Don't call me that," I whimper pathetically, pounding lamely on his chest.
"Baby? Are you okay?"
I shake my head violently.
"What's wrong?"
"I thought you were going to break up with her," I sob. That's what you had told me, that you were going to dump her. But you're so full of lies these days, I just don't know how to believe anything you say anymore.
"I know, I know." you run your hand gently through my hair again and the feeling of your palm running across my skull is oddly relaxing. "I'm waiting for the right time. Today's her birthday, Nickie. I couldn't dump her today," you whisper. You're right, but it still makes my heart crack when I see her in your arms. You give all your affection to her, and there's not much leftover for me aftwefwards. I snuffle forcefully to try to clear my nose. I wipe the tears. I hope pathetically that you're not lying to me.
It's the evening and you're still lying on the couch, gazing at the blinking television and laughing childishly at the stupidest shit, making the silliest comments. You're a lot less trouble for me when you drink, so I never object to it. But the past couple months it seems like you can't even take a piss without having a bottle of beer with you. You'll be drunk a couple nights of the week, and the days when you don't drink is when you're going out that night. Can't be drunk for dates, can you? Usually you save one or two nights of the week for me, and your level of drunken-ness varies.
I look over at you and notice you're passed out again. Your head's back on the couch arm and your mouth is hanging open, your arm bent in a fashion that looks uncomfortable. The television is the only current source of light in the room. I stand up off the couch, not waiting for you to wake up again. Deciding on just letting you spend the night on the couch, I shuffle to my room and crawl into bed quietly. I can hear the distant hum of the television and it helps me get to sleep.
The next day's Wednesday and you're actually home. But you've brought one of your girls home with you. You pull me aside and tell me to stay out of your way tonight. I agree, as I'm about to cry. anything would be better than having to watch you two make out. It hurts enough to just see you with her.
You smile and link your arm in hers and you two go into the basement. I choke out a sob now that you can't hear me anymore. But you wouldn't care all that much anyway. I scrub my eyes and try to prevent any more tears from falling, but I'm still breathing in small gasps, choking between each one.
***
Seeing as you've neglected to make dinner, I pull a frozen pizza out of the freezer and have it cooked and ready in ten minutes time. I trot into the living room and set the plate of steamy pizza on the table. You always get angry when I get stains on the white couch cushions, so I simply flip the clean looking pillows over to reveal their stained undersides.
Flip, flip, flip.
I chow down on the pizza and eat the whole thing in less than ten minutes.
Flip, flip, flip.
The couch looks perfectly white again. I'm not full, though. I'm not hungry either, but food makes me feel a little less sad. My eyes are still stinging from crying and I just image you making out with whatever skank you brought home today. I slink under a blanket on the couch, lying on my side and gazing absently at the television. Eventually I need to close my burning eyes for a little relief and I drift off.
***
A door opens. Footsteps, giggling and laughing. I flutter my eyes open and look straight ahead. I don't want to look at you or her. You're laughing like idiots and it's bringing the tears back to my eyes. I struggle to take in a breath and let it out slowly. My chest hurts. I close my eyes as you walk behind the couch to get to the door.
"Sorry I can't spend the night, honey," she says.
"It's okay," you say and by the sounds I hear I assume you're kissing again. I choke back a sob and swallow, my mouth feeling dry. There's drool on the pillow my face is lying on. I slide my hands under it comfortably and gaze across the room, being forced to listen to the two of you making out.
The door finally closes and you yawn. It's just you now, and I let out a sob that I can't hold back anymore.
"Nick?"
I become silent, holding my breath as you come around the couch.
"Nickie, are you alright?" you rest a hand on my shoulder. I still but I can't hold my breath anymore and it comes out as a sob. "Nick?" you push against my shoulder an an attempt to turn me over. When that doesn't work, you walk around to the front of the couch and sit down. You lean towards me and hold me in your arms, cooing softly in my ear and raking my curls. Your arms make me feel cold and my body tremors as I sob again. I try to wrench out of your arms. You're not holding me tightly but I can't get away from you as I'm blindly wriggling. You sing in my ear and I automatically start to calm down. One of your arms is wrapped around my side and the other one is in my hair, with your mouth right next to my air as you sing ocapella.
When I finally give up on getting out of your grip, you stop singing and ask me "What's wrong, Nicky, baby?"
"Don't call me that," I whimper pathetically, pounding lamely on his chest.
"Baby? Are you okay?"
I shake my head violently.
"What's wrong?"
"I thought you were going to break up with her," I sob. That's what you had told me, that you were going to dump her. But you're so full of lies these days, I just don't know how to believe anything you say anymore.
"I know, I know." you run your hand gently through my hair again and the feeling of your palm running across my skull is oddly relaxing. "I'm waiting for the right time. Today's her birthday, Nickie. I couldn't dump her today," you whisper. You're right, but it still makes my heart crack when I see her in your arms. You give all your affection to her, and there's not much leftover for me aftwefwards. I snuffle forcefully to try to clear my nose. I wipe the tears. I hope pathetically that you're not lying to me.