One
Clara
Ryan crushes me against him, and I let out a squeal. “You’re perfect, you know,” he whispers in my ear. Beer breath follows. I close my eyes for a moment, thinking about better days.
“Nah, no one is.” I wriggle out of his grasp and get out of the pool.
He’s quickly behind me with a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Isaid you are, and what I say goes.” Kissing me fiercely, he stalks off to get a beer. His friends have had too much to drink, and I grip the towel tighter.
It’s been a great day, first out for lunch and shopping, now the evening with his friends at their pool.
I have to get food into Ryan before he hits a certain point, or the night will be ruined.
Life is crazy. When you’re in any bad situation, the good days are really fucking good, but the lows are some of the worst.
I excuse myself and head into the house to change into capris and a shirt. Grazing the snack table when I come out, he sways into me.
“Don’t eat too much. You know I like you the size you are.”
I grit my teeth. I’ve been the same size for five years, and I doubt a couple of handfuls of grapes will change it.
Instead of pointing out any logic, because that’ll solve nothing and only cause a scene, I make him a plate, but he waves his hand and turns it away before downing his beer.
“Nah, babe, loosen up. Just enjoy the party. You don’t have to be so tense.” The slur in his words takes me back to many of the nights we’ve had. The memories of fear and pain blend in a sick and twisted combination.
“Please try this. I think it could be good for us to make at home, or if you like it, I can make your lunches with it.” I peer at him, doing my best to come off as sweet instead of controlling.
It’s a tough line to toe, never knowing whether he will fall for my antics, even though I’m trying to save us from himself.
Ryan stuffs half the ham croissant in his mouth and chews for a few minutes before shoving the rest in. “Good,” he says, crumbs flying everywhere. At least he shouldn’t get too sloppy this way, and his violence meter should drop down a peg or two.
“Are you guys staying tonight?” Brody, his friend, asks and swings his arms around our shoulders.
Ryan shoves him off me and stands in front. “We’re leaving. Don’t touch her.”
I mouthsorryto Brody as if it’s my job to please his friends, then grab my bag from the couch.
“I can drive, Clara. You don’t have to treat me like a child.”
A child would have more couth, but I clench the keys tighter. “Ry, you never let me drive. What if you relax for once and be a passenger?’
“You’re right. It's about time you did things for me.”
I smile and grasp his sweaty hand before bringing him out to the car.
He fiddles with the radio the entire drive home.
Living in his father's basement apartment was never part of my dreams. However, the four years we’ve lived together after the magical first have me rooted in a place I can never be free from.
“I’m gonna prove to you tonight how much you mean to me, Clara,” he slurs.
Parking the car, I grab our bags and wait for him to catch up before walking in.
I’m glad I didn’t stock any alcohol in the apartment and pray the delivery service is too busy tonight. Enduring a drunk night is better than the alternative, but never as good as one of the sober nights.
“Do you want me to make you some dinner?”
“No, I want you to prove how much you love me.”
