Demons

Shelby sat curled up on the couch, a worn afghan draped over her up to her shoulders. Her brown flecked green eyes were glassy, fresh tears rolling down her face. She pushed her hair behind her ears and sniffled. Shaking her head, she muttered to herself. Not being able to sit on the couch any longer, she pulled herself up, shakily, and headed for the shower. Tearing her clothes off as she went, she replayed her fight in their head.

“Get the fuck outta here, woman.” He scoffed, waving his hand at her, his pinky curled into his palm as it always was. “I ain’t got no time for you.”

“I’m not going to walk out, Tommy. Not after everything we’ve been through. You’re not going to push me away now.”

He narrowed his smoky hazel eyes at her, his muscles coiling in anger. He looked like he did when he was getting ready to face an opponent in the ring, his inner beast taking hold of his senses. Nostrils flared, his normally full lips pulled into a tight line. He titled his head to the side, wide eyes locked on hers.

“An’ what makes ya think I want ya, anyway?”

That stung. But she wouldn’t let it show. She titled her chin defiantly, and crossed her arms over her chest, widening her stance. Tommy Conlon could make grown men cower. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.

“The hell you don’t.” She shot back, muddy green eyes smoldering. “This is what you do when something scares you. You try to push everyone away. You’re not going to push me away that easily, I’m not going to walk away with my tail between my fucking legs because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” He scoffed, “Swee’heart, I ain’t scared of nothin’ no more.”

“Then why are you trying so fucking hard to get me out of your life!?” She shouted, slamming her hands onto the top of the table where Tommy was seated. The action sent him out of his chair, it clanging against the wall while he shoved a finger in her face,

“You don’t fucking raise your voice to me Shelby!” He snarled, and Shelby could see his jaw ticking wildly, matching the look in his eye.

“It’s about the only damned why I can get to you, now-a-days Tommy! It’s the only way I can seem to get anything into that thick skull of yours!” She roughly thumped her hand against the top of her own head, “Jesus Christ, how did we end up here…and get that fucking hand out of my face!” She shoved his hand away from her face and clenched her jaw. “I just want to understand, Tommy. That’s all. I just want to know why you try so hard to push me out of here.” She rested her dainty hand against his chest, and started when he ripped her hand off of him, tweaking her wrist in the process as he then shoved her back a step. Gasping when she hit the island in the kitchen rather hard, she faintly heard him snarl, ‘get your fucking hands off’a me’ as he pinned her against the island she’d slammed in to.

Heat was radiating off of Tommy in waves, and his chest was heaving. His grip on the island was so tight that his bruised and roughened knuckles had turned stark white. Shelby had never once in her years with Tommy felt threatened by him before now. They’d had this fight before, but it had never escalated as this one had.

“You always gotta try to get in my head. Try to pry an’ see what the fuck is up there. Darlin’ you don’t want to know what I’ve got goin’ on up there.” He laughed, but it was a cold sound, a heartless laugh.
“Ya see,” His eyes were dark gray now, narrowed in his anger. He lifted one hand, and Shelby couldn’t stop the flinch that wracked her body when it shot passed her. But, it didn’t come in contact with her, instead he pointed to his own skull, tapping a large finger against his temple. “I’ve got demons up here. Demons that you don’t want to get involved with.”

Shelby went to say something, but he stopped her with one glance. Pain was blistering from where the island was cutting into her back, but she had no room to move. He was so close. Shelby felt like he could melt into her.

“You’re fucking dumb for thinking you could ‘build’ a god damned life with me.” His voice was a low snarl, “All I probably ev’a was to ya anyway was a fucking charity case.”

“You know that isn’t true!” She shouted, squirming against him until she could get a hand out, and before she could think twice, her hand was flying up and smacking Tommy across the face. She knew it had stung him, because it had hurt her hand. His head snapped to the right, and when he brought it back to look at her, his body was trembling as he tried to restrain his anger. “Tommy—I didn’t—I’m—.”

“I want ya fucking gone by the time I get back, Shelby, and I’m not fucking playing around. Ya ass better be outta this house.” He pushed his weight against her, knowing the pressure was already hurting her, but his anger had gotten the best of him in that moment. He leaned down, smoky hazel eyes narrowed and wild sealed on hers. Tilting his head so she could get a clear look at the print her hand had left against his skin, he could feel it stinging with an almost white-hot pain. He was use to taking punches, but this was different. This was Shelby, laying a hand on him for the first time, ever, in their relationship. “We’re fucking done.”

With that, Tommy whirled away from her. In his anger, picking up her favorite mug and whipping it against the wall. He didn’t even flinch as he watched it shatter, the coffee that had been in it, splattering against the wall and rolling down in thick droplets. Without even a glance over his shoulder at her, he stalked out of the house. Slamming the door behind him so hard that the windows rattled, he shouted “fuck!” and jogged down the steps before stalking out into the chilly Pittsburgh night.

In the house, Shelby was still against the island. It was silent for a long moment before her shoulders sagged and a sob slipped passed her lips. In all of the fights that they’d had, Tommy had never once. Once. Put his hands on her. Granted it could have been a lot worse than it was, but it had still shattered her. Once she somewhat regained her shaky legs, she stumbled into the bedroom that they shared more nights than not. Pulling her suitcase from the closet, she threw everything that she could fit into it.

The hot water poured out of the shower head, nearly blistering. Shelby was subconsciously rubbing her wrist, which was a bit swollen now. The auburn haired woman lingered in the water until it grew cold. Then, she pulled on a long sleep shirt and fell into her bed. She didn’t even bother to brush her hair. She just wanted to escape the hell she felt she was in at the moment. Sore wrist cradled against her chest, she drifted off. The sleep was restless though, without the warmth of Tommy’s body pressed against her.

Tommy Conlon arrived back at his home a few hours later, more than drunk, he was annihilated. A bottle of whiskey still dangled from his fingers as he struggled with the door. Once he got inside, he staggered into the living room expecting her to be curled up on the couch. He blinked his glassy eyes when he found the couch empty. Letting a grunt slip passed his plump lips, he wobbled on his feet when he whirled, slightly too fast, to head for the bedroom. Unsteadily, he found the dresser and placed the bottle of alcohol on the top of it and saw that Shelby wasn’t there either, but he noticed through his whiskey induced haze that there were a few random articles of clothing that were here strewn from the closet to the bed.

A frown creasing the skin between his eyes Tommy lowered himself, rather ungracefully, to the edge of the bed and leaned to pluck her favorite purple thermal from the floor. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers and then let himself fall onto his back on the mattress. Her shirt curled into his hand, he fell quickly into a drunken slumber.