Status: Finished! ❤️
Hurricane
SEVEN
I didn't go far. I ended up sitting in a cafe down the street from our apartment for a few hours before just going back. The door was locked, which was strange since Shannon's motorcycle was parked in its spot outside right where it should've been. I unlocked the door and instantly gasped at what I saw. The entire living room was torn apart; everything was thrown about and knocked over. It looked like someone had been looking for something in the most aggressive way possible.
"Shannon?" I called for him instinctively, even though in the back of my mind I knew full well that he was fine. He didn't answer. I walked into the kitchen and he was sitting in the same chair I'd left him in, just looking even more disheveled if that was possible. There was blood down his shirt and all over his face again, and I noticed that his knuckles were now painted with blue-black bruises.
"What the fuck did you do, Shannon?" I asked, dropping my purse and rushing to him.
"I needed to hit something. Everything in the living room just sort of got in the way," he said calmly, and I wanted to punch him.
"You 'needed to hit something', Shannon? Fucking seriously? You 'needed to hit something', so you ripped apart our entire fucking living room?" I yelled at him, instantly full of rage.
"I didn't know if you were even coming back!" he yelled back, and I rolled my eyes dramatically.
"Of course I was coming back! Where else would I go?" I asked him, and he shrugged. The way he was looking at me, it was almost as if he was daring me to keep going, to get him worked up. Little did he know, I had a pretty little temper of my own. I ripped open one of the kitchen cupboards and without really thinking about it, threw a glass on the floor. It shattered instantly and Shannon took a step back, his face a mask trying to conceal his surprise. I threw another glass, tears pouring down my face. He backed out of the kitchen completely. I threw another. He watched from the doorway. I started screaming and threw another. He watched, the look in his eyes unreadable.
"Evangeline," he said my name calmly as I picked up yet another glass. "Evangeline!" he roared as I raised the glass above my head to throw it. I stared at him, the glass still raised above my head.
"What? Huh? You're the only one allowed to have a temper? You're the only one allowed to throw a fucking tantrum?" I screamed, my voice ragged and tearful.
"Evangeline," he said my name calmly again, and I could hear the emotion behind it even though I still couldn't read the expression on his face.
"Shannon," I said, setting the glass that was still in my hand down on the counter. I couldn't look at him and didn't know what that meant. I walked through the giant puddle of glass that I'd made, removing my shoes at the other side of the kitchen so that I didn't track it through the rest of the house. I pushed past him as I walked by and his hand reached out and grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling me gently back to him.
"Evey," he whispered it this time, pulling me close in to him.
"Shan," I whispered back, tears still pouring from my eyes.
"Evey, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm a fucking idiot, okay? I don't know what else to say," he said quietly, his eyes sparkling with more tears that were threatening to fall.
"I don't know what else to say either," I said, and it was true. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. I didn't know what to say to him anymore; wasn't even sure that I knew him at all anymore. The Shannon I thought I knew wouldn't have done any of the things that this Shannon had done in the past few days. I felt betrayed; like he'd only ever really showed me a small part of himself. I was still incredibly hurt by the things he'd said. I was scared of the fact that I left for a mere few hours and came back to find my living room completely dismantled. I was scared that I'd just done what I had; breaking the glasses and losing control like that.
His good hand was on my shoulder, seemingly holding me in place. I glanced down at it before leaning in to kiss him. He seemed caught completely off-guard by the movement but kissed me passionately anyway. He leaned in further and I had to lean away to stop myself from pulling his shirt off and kissing his neck, chest, and stomach. I pulled away enough to look into his eyes and was met with confusion.
"I have to go, Shannon. I have to get out of here for a while. Maybe a day, maybe longer, but I've got to go, and you've got to be okay, okay? You will see me again. I will come back. I don't know when, but I will. But for right now, I can't be here," I said, and as I spoke I could see him physically recoil like I'd burned him. "I'm sorry Shan, but I have to go," I whispered. He didn't say anything. He was crying now, tears silently streaming down his face.
It took everything I had to not look back at him as I walked toward the front door of the apartment. I walked down to my car and made sure I was locked inside before I let the tears start pouring out of my eyes.
"Shannon?" I called for him instinctively, even though in the back of my mind I knew full well that he was fine. He didn't answer. I walked into the kitchen and he was sitting in the same chair I'd left him in, just looking even more disheveled if that was possible. There was blood down his shirt and all over his face again, and I noticed that his knuckles were now painted with blue-black bruises.
"What the fuck did you do, Shannon?" I asked, dropping my purse and rushing to him.
"I needed to hit something. Everything in the living room just sort of got in the way," he said calmly, and I wanted to punch him.
"You 'needed to hit something', Shannon? Fucking seriously? You 'needed to hit something', so you ripped apart our entire fucking living room?" I yelled at him, instantly full of rage.
"I didn't know if you were even coming back!" he yelled back, and I rolled my eyes dramatically.
"Of course I was coming back! Where else would I go?" I asked him, and he shrugged. The way he was looking at me, it was almost as if he was daring me to keep going, to get him worked up. Little did he know, I had a pretty little temper of my own. I ripped open one of the kitchen cupboards and without really thinking about it, threw a glass on the floor. It shattered instantly and Shannon took a step back, his face a mask trying to conceal his surprise. I threw another glass, tears pouring down my face. He backed out of the kitchen completely. I threw another. He watched from the doorway. I started screaming and threw another. He watched, the look in his eyes unreadable.
"Evangeline," he said my name calmly as I picked up yet another glass. "Evangeline!" he roared as I raised the glass above my head to throw it. I stared at him, the glass still raised above my head.
"What? Huh? You're the only one allowed to have a temper? You're the only one allowed to throw a fucking tantrum?" I screamed, my voice ragged and tearful.
"Evangeline," he said my name calmly again, and I could hear the emotion behind it even though I still couldn't read the expression on his face.
"Shannon," I said, setting the glass that was still in my hand down on the counter. I couldn't look at him and didn't know what that meant. I walked through the giant puddle of glass that I'd made, removing my shoes at the other side of the kitchen so that I didn't track it through the rest of the house. I pushed past him as I walked by and his hand reached out and grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling me gently back to him.
"Evey," he whispered it this time, pulling me close in to him.
"Shan," I whispered back, tears still pouring from my eyes.
"Evey, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm a fucking idiot, okay? I don't know what else to say," he said quietly, his eyes sparkling with more tears that were threatening to fall.
"I don't know what else to say either," I said, and it was true. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. I didn't know what to say to him anymore; wasn't even sure that I knew him at all anymore. The Shannon I thought I knew wouldn't have done any of the things that this Shannon had done in the past few days. I felt betrayed; like he'd only ever really showed me a small part of himself. I was still incredibly hurt by the things he'd said. I was scared of the fact that I left for a mere few hours and came back to find my living room completely dismantled. I was scared that I'd just done what I had; breaking the glasses and losing control like that.
His good hand was on my shoulder, seemingly holding me in place. I glanced down at it before leaning in to kiss him. He seemed caught completely off-guard by the movement but kissed me passionately anyway. He leaned in further and I had to lean away to stop myself from pulling his shirt off and kissing his neck, chest, and stomach. I pulled away enough to look into his eyes and was met with confusion.
"I have to go, Shannon. I have to get out of here for a while. Maybe a day, maybe longer, but I've got to go, and you've got to be okay, okay? You will see me again. I will come back. I don't know when, but I will. But for right now, I can't be here," I said, and as I spoke I could see him physically recoil like I'd burned him. "I'm sorry Shan, but I have to go," I whispered. He didn't say anything. He was crying now, tears silently streaming down his face.
It took everything I had to not look back at him as I walked toward the front door of the apartment. I walked down to my car and made sure I was locked inside before I let the tears start pouring out of my eyes.