Thank You, Gravity
Satisfactory Messages of Snackage.
Joe looks down at the batter with wide eyes, realizing his mistake. He's just poured beer into the bowl without thinking.
Alcoholic cookies sound appetizing.
"Crap!" he gasps under his breath, looking at the beer can in his hand. I smile and shake my head forgivingly, sighing as I contemplate what to do with the batter now. We can't use it to make cookies anymore. So I pick up the bowl and open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the trash can. I dump the contents into the trash. So much for cookies, I suppose.
"You're such a dickhead sometimes," I laugh jokingly.
"I'm sorry," Joe murmurs, looking at the batter in the trash can. I turn around to face him, kicking the cabinet closed.
"It's alright," I giggle, kissing him on the cheek quickly. He curls the tips of his fingers around mine and I lean upwards and place a tiny kiss on his lips.
"Well, the cookies died," he remarks bluntly after a little while of silence.
"What are we going to eat, then?" I ask, thinking over what's in the fridge.
"I don't know," He mutters, walking over to the small refrigerator and peering in from behind me, with his hands on my shoulders and his chin resting on one of his hands. I sigh a little and close the door after finding no satisfactory snackage. Joe wraps his arms around my waist and I press my back into his chest. "Dad left a message earlier," he tells me quietly.
"Oh? What'd he say?" I tilt my head back and look up at him, a little nervously. I don't know what to expect from our dad anymore. One day he'll be hitting me and screaming at Joe, the next day he apoligises. But the latter isn't all that likely.
"Nothing too nice. He just called to say he 'hopes we're happy' and not to come near them again and we're lucky he didn't call the cops on us. He didn't even say goodbye when he hung up. He was basically giving us a big 'fuck you'." Joe bites out remorsefully.
I sigh, leaning backwards a little in his arms. I thought we had left with him on good terms. But what was I expecting? For him to say he loves us again?
"Joe, did you honestly think he'd be okay with it now?" I ask quietly and push Joe's hands off my waist, ripping a paper towel off the roll on the counter, and sweep the puddles of flour into the sink.
"No," he sighs admittedly. He gets a paper towel of his own and joins me. "But I wish he wasn't being like this. It's not like we aren't aware that it isn't exactly accepted, he doesn't need to keep reminding us. I think we're lucky he didn't turn us in to the cops."
He cleans up with me in silence, wiping off the counter until it's clean and I put the oil, flour and sugar in the rotating cabinet under the counter. I rip the piece of parchment paper we had spread on the tray, and open the cabinet under the sink. I toss the paper into the trash. "He's the only reason I wanted to break up a year ago," he says quietly into my ear, wrapping his arms around my front again, and I shut the cabinet with my knee.
"I know," I whisper. He kisses the spot behind my ear that makes me shiver, and I giggle quietly.
Alcoholic cookies sound appetizing.
"Crap!" he gasps under his breath, looking at the beer can in his hand. I smile and shake my head forgivingly, sighing as I contemplate what to do with the batter now. We can't use it to make cookies anymore. So I pick up the bowl and open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the trash can. I dump the contents into the trash. So much for cookies, I suppose.
"You're such a dickhead sometimes," I laugh jokingly.
"I'm sorry," Joe murmurs, looking at the batter in the trash can. I turn around to face him, kicking the cabinet closed.
"It's alright," I giggle, kissing him on the cheek quickly. He curls the tips of his fingers around mine and I lean upwards and place a tiny kiss on his lips.
"Well, the cookies died," he remarks bluntly after a little while of silence.
"What are we going to eat, then?" I ask, thinking over what's in the fridge.
"I don't know," He mutters, walking over to the small refrigerator and peering in from behind me, with his hands on my shoulders and his chin resting on one of his hands. I sigh a little and close the door after finding no satisfactory snackage. Joe wraps his arms around my waist and I press my back into his chest. "Dad left a message earlier," he tells me quietly.
"Oh? What'd he say?" I tilt my head back and look up at him, a little nervously. I don't know what to expect from our dad anymore. One day he'll be hitting me and screaming at Joe, the next day he apoligises. But the latter isn't all that likely.
"Nothing too nice. He just called to say he 'hopes we're happy' and not to come near them again and we're lucky he didn't call the cops on us. He didn't even say goodbye when he hung up. He was basically giving us a big 'fuck you'." Joe bites out remorsefully.
I sigh, leaning backwards a little in his arms. I thought we had left with him on good terms. But what was I expecting? For him to say he loves us again?
"Joe, did you honestly think he'd be okay with it now?" I ask quietly and push Joe's hands off my waist, ripping a paper towel off the roll on the counter, and sweep the puddles of flour into the sink.
"No," he sighs admittedly. He gets a paper towel of his own and joins me. "But I wish he wasn't being like this. It's not like we aren't aware that it isn't exactly accepted, he doesn't need to keep reminding us. I think we're lucky he didn't turn us in to the cops."
He cleans up with me in silence, wiping off the counter until it's clean and I put the oil, flour and sugar in the rotating cabinet under the counter. I rip the piece of parchment paper we had spread on the tray, and open the cabinet under the sink. I toss the paper into the trash. "He's the only reason I wanted to break up a year ago," he says quietly into my ear, wrapping his arms around my front again, and I shut the cabinet with my knee.
"I know," I whisper. He kisses the spot behind my ear that makes me shiver, and I giggle quietly.