Just Give Me A Reason.
just a little bit's enough.
“Goddamnit Bam, I told you, I don’t want to deal with your shit anymore!”
“Then why the fuck are you around?”
“Because I love you, dipshit,” I stomped my foot at him, crossing my arms. I sat down on the loveseat, the only furniture we had in the living room of our sparse apartment.
Bam walked by me and didn’t say anything. He grabbed his keys off the hook we had by our front door and gave me some excuse that he was going out with the guys. I mumbled something about how his shit would be on the sidewalk when he got back, but we both knew I was blowing smoke out of my ass.
Bam and I had it rough. We loved each other but we hated the things we did. I couldn’t stand his drinking and he couldn’t stand my writing.
Being together for five years, living together for a year of that, we always fought. It could be about the simplest things and neither one of us wanted to admit we were wrong. We both had too much pride to give in to the other’s, so it usually just ended with us having a screaming match all night; only to make up the next day.
I sighed and grabbed my laptop, opening the word program. I began typing, although I wasn’t working on a book this time. I was writing a new post for my blog, about mine and Bam’s love-hate relationship.
I get so sick of this, I wrote.
I love this man with every ounce of my being. I never want to hurt him, or have him leave me or anything of that sort. He’s my other half, I want to marry this man and have his children. I want a life with him. Why is he so against that? Does he pick fights just for the hell of it? Does he get some kind of stupid satisfaction from hurting me?
I stopped; I knew I was no better than him. I’d also scream obscenities at him and make him feel like shit. He shouldn’t get all the blame.
I guess if you wanted to get technical about it, I also do shit to hurt him as well. I know I can be a total bitch and say things to hurt his feelings. It’s not like I want to, he just brings out the worst in me sometimes, just like I know I can bring the worst out in him as well.
I sighed and looked at the door, waiting for him to come in any second, mumbling something about how the guys couldn’t drink. He’d then go into our bedroom, slam the door and sleep the rest of the day. That’s how our routine would go. I would usually make us dinner, shower and crawl into bed beside him.
I kept typing away and finally posted my blog. I kept looking at the clock, waiting for Bam, but it seemed as if he was spending the night at his mother’s, like always when we got into big fights.
“I guess I’ll get started on dinner.” I mumbled, shutting down my laptop.
I was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of macaroni noodles when I heard the door open. No doubt it was Bam.
“Hannah?” He called.
“In the kitchen!” I yelled.
In walked Bam, tracking mud on the floor. I sighed, knowing I’d have to mop that up later.
“We need to talk,” he said, leaning up against the counter.
“You don’t say?” I muttered in a sarcastic tone.
He sighed, “Hannah, really, I want to talk to you, can you stop stirring the damn pot for a second and listen to me?”
“I am listening, shit for brains, talk away.”
“Okay,” he began, “I know, I’m a dick. I can’t help it, I just am. But, I do know I love you, and I don’t want to lose you and shit, if I have to give up drinking, I will, but you have to give up your writing too because holy shit, you pay more attention to the fucking laptop than you do me, and I hate that,” he exhaled.
I was in shock. Bam was never like this. What was he up to? Did he get a hooker pregnant or something?
“I know,” I started, swallowing the lump in my throat, “I know, and yes, you are a dick, just like I am a bitch. But I love you too; I don’t want us to end over our shitty fighting. I can give up my writing; I just don’t want to lose you.”
Bam smiled, and I couldn’t help but blush. I loved his smile.
“I love you Hannah,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.
I was forced to drop the spoon I was holding and I wrapped my arms around him as well.
“I love you too.”
“Then why the fuck are you around?”
“Because I love you, dipshit,” I stomped my foot at him, crossing my arms. I sat down on the loveseat, the only furniture we had in the living room of our sparse apartment.
Bam walked by me and didn’t say anything. He grabbed his keys off the hook we had by our front door and gave me some excuse that he was going out with the guys. I mumbled something about how his shit would be on the sidewalk when he got back, but we both knew I was blowing smoke out of my ass.
Bam and I had it rough. We loved each other but we hated the things we did. I couldn’t stand his drinking and he couldn’t stand my writing.
Being together for five years, living together for a year of that, we always fought. It could be about the simplest things and neither one of us wanted to admit we were wrong. We both had too much pride to give in to the other’s, so it usually just ended with us having a screaming match all night; only to make up the next day.
I sighed and grabbed my laptop, opening the word program. I began typing, although I wasn’t working on a book this time. I was writing a new post for my blog, about mine and Bam’s love-hate relationship.
I get so sick of this, I wrote.
I love this man with every ounce of my being. I never want to hurt him, or have him leave me or anything of that sort. He’s my other half, I want to marry this man and have his children. I want a life with him. Why is he so against that? Does he pick fights just for the hell of it? Does he get some kind of stupid satisfaction from hurting me?
I stopped; I knew I was no better than him. I’d also scream obscenities at him and make him feel like shit. He shouldn’t get all the blame.
I guess if you wanted to get technical about it, I also do shit to hurt him as well. I know I can be a total bitch and say things to hurt his feelings. It’s not like I want to, he just brings out the worst in me sometimes, just like I know I can bring the worst out in him as well.
I sighed and looked at the door, waiting for him to come in any second, mumbling something about how the guys couldn’t drink. He’d then go into our bedroom, slam the door and sleep the rest of the day. That’s how our routine would go. I would usually make us dinner, shower and crawl into bed beside him.
I kept typing away and finally posted my blog. I kept looking at the clock, waiting for Bam, but it seemed as if he was spending the night at his mother’s, like always when we got into big fights.
“I guess I’ll get started on dinner.” I mumbled, shutting down my laptop.
I was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of macaroni noodles when I heard the door open. No doubt it was Bam.
“Hannah?” He called.
“In the kitchen!” I yelled.
In walked Bam, tracking mud on the floor. I sighed, knowing I’d have to mop that up later.
“We need to talk,” he said, leaning up against the counter.
“You don’t say?” I muttered in a sarcastic tone.
He sighed, “Hannah, really, I want to talk to you, can you stop stirring the damn pot for a second and listen to me?”
“I am listening, shit for brains, talk away.”
“Okay,” he began, “I know, I’m a dick. I can’t help it, I just am. But, I do know I love you, and I don’t want to lose you and shit, if I have to give up drinking, I will, but you have to give up your writing too because holy shit, you pay more attention to the fucking laptop than you do me, and I hate that,” he exhaled.
I was in shock. Bam was never like this. What was he up to? Did he get a hooker pregnant or something?
“I know,” I started, swallowing the lump in my throat, “I know, and yes, you are a dick, just like I am a bitch. But I love you too; I don’t want us to end over our shitty fighting. I can give up my writing; I just don’t want to lose you.”
Bam smiled, and I couldn’t help but blush. I loved his smile.
“I love you Hannah,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.
I was forced to drop the spoon I was holding and I wrapped my arms around him as well.
“I love you too.”