The Oneshot Collective
It's All Your Fault!
"If you wanted a live in fuck toy then you should've gotten a blow up doll!" Needless to say, this woman was pissed. Pissed and drunk, almost his favorite combination with this woman. He loved to drink and really loved to drink with her. Her temper is what he really liked about her though.
She had thrown things at him. You name it, it's been aimed at his head: insults, brushes, guitar strings, paint, hair spray, hair dryers, flat irons, compacts, eye shadow, eye liner, bottles of tylenol, towels, phones, even a cat once (though that was very unintentional). Even still, he loved her for it and still teased her every morning as they washed off the sex and got ready.
Only this time was different, her temper wasn't just a temper--it was anger. But why?
"Are you alright?"
"What do you care?"
"I love you, that's why," his eyes never moved from the task at hand: his eyeliner.
"You can't even look at me and say it," such a small and short sentiment yet so full of scorn and venom. He stopped and thought if this was his fault. Nah, couldn't be. They hadn't gone out in a while so it was just her temper at work. So he looked her dead in the eye and said,
"I love you. Now, what's wrong?"
"I'm an emotional fruit cake, that's why--and I'm about to turn into an emotional/hormonal nut job!"
Alarmed, he didn't even think she realized she was crying--or that her mascara wasn't dry, or that her face was now a mess of black runny eyelash gel.
"W-why would you be a nut job?" Oh yes, he was a little fearful now.
"It's all your fucking fault!" She threw the forgotten (or so he thought) tube of mascara at him, hitting him right in the eye.
"OW!!! That fucking hurt you bitch!!!" He clutched his stinging, watering eye. Great, he thought, now we match and I'm late as it is!
"You fucking deserve it!"
"WHAT?!"
"I'M FUCKING PREGNANT!"
For a full minute he just stood there, face bloodless, the floor wasn't there. It was like it was happening to someone else... Well, it was, but it didn't feel like it.
"Say something dammit!"
"A-are y-you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure"
"Did you take a test?"
"Twenty"
"Could they have..."
"No"
"Oh..."
"So you're a daddy now."
"Oh god..." he literally fainted.
"Great, I just got knocked up by a fucking pansy in better make up than me. Fucking lovely."
She had thrown things at him. You name it, it's been aimed at his head: insults, brushes, guitar strings, paint, hair spray, hair dryers, flat irons, compacts, eye shadow, eye liner, bottles of tylenol, towels, phones, even a cat once (though that was very unintentional). Even still, he loved her for it and still teased her every morning as they washed off the sex and got ready.
Only this time was different, her temper wasn't just a temper--it was anger. But why?
"Are you alright?"
"What do you care?"
"I love you, that's why," his eyes never moved from the task at hand: his eyeliner.
"You can't even look at me and say it," such a small and short sentiment yet so full of scorn and venom. He stopped and thought if this was his fault. Nah, couldn't be. They hadn't gone out in a while so it was just her temper at work. So he looked her dead in the eye and said,
"I love you. Now, what's wrong?"
"I'm an emotional fruit cake, that's why--and I'm about to turn into an emotional/hormonal nut job!"
Alarmed, he didn't even think she realized she was crying--or that her mascara wasn't dry, or that her face was now a mess of black runny eyelash gel.
"W-why would you be a nut job?" Oh yes, he was a little fearful now.
"It's all your fucking fault!" She threw the forgotten (or so he thought) tube of mascara at him, hitting him right in the eye.
"OW!!! That fucking hurt you bitch!!!" He clutched his stinging, watering eye. Great, he thought, now we match and I'm late as it is!
"You fucking deserve it!"
"WHAT?!"
"I'M FUCKING PREGNANT!"
For a full minute he just stood there, face bloodless, the floor wasn't there. It was like it was happening to someone else... Well, it was, but it didn't feel like it.
"Say something dammit!"
"A-are y-you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure"
"Did you take a test?"
"Twenty"
"Could they have..."
"No"
"Oh..."
"So you're a daddy now."
"Oh god..." he literally fainted.
"Great, I just got knocked up by a fucking pansy in better make up than me. Fucking lovely."