Shattered Ceramics

The tortilla soup simmered on the stove, filling the small kitchen with a warm, mouthwatering stew of scents. Two empty bowls sat on the counter, ready for dinner. Pushing a strand of brown hair behind his ear, William lifted the lid off of the pot, dipped a spoon into the soup and tasted it, wondering if he'd followed the recipe correctly. Judging by the pirouettes of his taste buds, he had - the soup was perfect!
I'll have to thank Mom for this later, he thought as he turned off the stove.

Now it was all a matter of waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting some more.
----

An hour later, William was sitting at the table, his elbow propped on the wooden surface, drumming his fingers anxiously. He glanced at the wall clock as it ticked away, the metronome to his fingertips, and sighed. Where could she possibly be?

----

Two hours later, the tall twenty-two year-old was curled up on the couch, his eyes fixed on the small television, his mind elsewhere. He checked the time for what must have been the millionth time that night. From his cushioned seat, he could still see the two ceramic bowls on the counter, still untouched.

“At least they have each other,” he sighed out loud, to no one in particular.

Maybe she had just forgotten he was coming home. She could be at a friend's house or something...

Or in grave danger, squeaked a little voice inside him. He tried to silence the voice with the glass of lemonade that sat, all alone, on the coffee table, but, sweet as it was, it was hard to down the drink.

----

William awoke with a start, shielding his eyes from the bright ceiling light, his mind clouded, his ears ringing with the sound of freshly-shattered clay. He straightened up from his slumped, sleepy position and looked for the source of the sound. His eyes locked on Lois as she kicked the shards of a vase aside on the linoleum floor.

Stretching his arms, he slowly stood up on shaky legs, trying to get his bearings in his half-asleep state. Yawning, he stepped, unnoticed, toward his girlfriend, the bitter smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the stagnant air of the room. By the time he had reached the kitchen, however, Lois had stumbled further into a kitchen, where she was holding a small bottle of painkillers. Carefully avoiding the clay pieces – and making a mental note to clean them up soon – William sleepwalked to the newly-arrived girl and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Hey, Lo,” he said groggily, bending down slightly to kiss her forehead.

“Not now,” she replied sharply, struggling for a moment before managing to pop the top off of the bottle. She carelessly tipped the plastic container over, catching at least six pills in the palm of her hand before allowing several others to hit the floor. Lois set the white capsules on the counter and reached for a water bottle from the package by the sink.

“So...did you just get home?” asked William, slightly alarmed. His question fell on deaf ears.

The buxom girl held the open water and picked up the pills again, moving her hand toward her mouth. With a split second to spare as he realized that the overflow of drugs hadn't been completely accidental, William reached out and stopped her arm just before the Tylenol reached her mouth.

“What the hell d'you think you're doing??” scolded William, feeling more awake than he had sixty seconds before as he scooped all but two of the pellets from the sweaty palm.

The redhead looked up at her boyfriend with glazed, pleading eyes, downing the two pills before replying. “My head'urts,” she said, her speech somewhat slurred, her face rather flushed.

“Oh. Well...” he replied, his tone gentler and less panicked than his previous statement. “That's way too many, you know?”

“Don't be sucha jerk 'bout it,” she snapped in a whining tone, her words not very clear.

He hugged her, analyzing his tone, wondering if he had, in fact, been a jerk. “You're right. I'm sorry,” he said softly, pecking her on the lips before letting go and picking up the spilled pills.

There was silence for a moment.

“So...you hungry?” William asked, looking wistfully at the covered, untouched pot of soup that sat on the stove, the bowls still abandoned to each other's company.

She nodded, gulping down more water.
----
Seven minutes later, the two were seated at the table, peacefully dipping into bowls of dinner at four in the morning. Few words were exchanged – their mouths were too full of chicken and chick peas. At least, not until William cheerfully mentioned the small successes of the tri-state tour he'd just arrived from.

“...and there was a show in Indiana with like, 10 people in the audience, but they all seemed satisfied,” he told her proudly, like a little kid sharing his doodles of elephants inside of boa constrictors. “The owner of the bar invited us back in two weeks.”

At this comment, a disapproving expression weaved itself into Lois's dazed smile. She set down her spoon, creating a small clink as metal hit ceramic.

“...Will?” she started suspiciously?

“Yeah?” he replied enthusiastically.

“...How long are you planning on keeping this up?”

The smile on William's face faded into a puzzled look. “Keep what up?” he asked, trying to read her eyes for additional information.

The redhead's face wrinkled into a scowl. “This whole...'band' crap. Y'know, the 'I'm-too-good-for-a-real-job'?”

The singer inhaled quickly, as if he'd lost all his air to a punch in the gut, his face matching his insides.

Before he could muster a response, Lois went on.

“You know, some people actually have to work for their money,” she ranted. “They don't have someone else to work for them, to get the cash they need.”

“Well, I –”

“And you know what else? They don't waste their girlfriends' hard-earned paychecks on stupid ingredients for stupid...” She stood up suddenly, scraping her chair violently against the floor tiles. “Flavorless...” She picked up the bowl. “Soup!”

The bowl cracked against the table, falling apart, splashing brown liquid and vegetables onto the table and floor.

She's drunk. She doesn't mean it. She doesn't mean it. William was stunned, frozen to his seat, unable to make a move.

He echoed his usual mantra in his head: She doesn't mean it! He could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

“You don't know how hard it is,” she fumed. “While you go and party with your stupid friends, and earn next to NOTHING, I'm at the office, typing all fucking day and answering the goddamn phone for a bunch of stuck-up, corporate bigwigs.”

She doesn't mean it. She doesn't mean it. He clenched his fists and slowly stood up.

“You're being a little bitch, you know that?” he growled.

“You've been one!” she roared. “Your skinny little ass needs to get a job, okay? I can't keep paying the rent alone!”

“Well, maybe if you didn't drink all the damn money, you'd have some to spare!” Will yelled, angry tears trickling down his cheeks. Maybe she did mean it.

“If you had a paying job, I could drink all I want, okay?”
She's serious.

“As a matter of fact, I do have a paying job! Haven't you ever heard of KISS? Prince? Nirvana? We're gonna be there one day!”

“Oh, just give up!” Lois slammed her hands down on the table, her face a deep red. “Your shitty little joke of a band won't amount to anything, okay?”

He froze up again, his body shaking with rage, with pain. She's really serious.

“Just get it through your head, Will,” she added, her tone significantly softer, almost nurturing. “Just listen to me. I'm being realistic, not mean.” She took a step around the table, towards the enraged giant, extending her hand.

But it was too late for gentleness.

William pushed her arm away forcefully. “NO! You listen to me.”

She gasped a little. She had never seen him so angry.

“I am SICK and TIRED of this bullshit! This isn't the first time you've done this!” He grabbed her wrists and pulled her close, glaring down at her.

“You are a drunk! A stupid, scummy drunk!” he screeched into her face, the tears still streaming down, his voice sounding a more than a bit hoarse. She tried to pull away, but couldn't.

“This is the last straw, you hear me?? My band WILL make it. But for now...” he loosed his grip on one hand and pulled back his fist. “You're gonna pay for everything you've done.”

Before his fist could make contact, though, something crashed against his temple, soaking his hair and burning his head. He cried out in agony, shut his eyes against the burning liquid, and let go of the girl, pressing his hands to his head, hearing a distant crash as the other bowl shattered.

Lois's aim hadn't failed her, even though she was more than a bit tipsy. She ran around the injured man toward the living room.

A mixture of blood and soup trickled down William's face as he blindly felt around for a rag, a paper towel – anything to wipe his eyes with. He tried opening them, but it burned too much. Somewhere in the chaos of his mind, he wondered about the meal's pH level. As he heard the doorknob twist open, other thoughts complicated his frenzy:

She was serious.

And, perhaps more painful, even, than the paralyzing headache that throbbed through his skull, or the burning soup:

She won.