“And now I’ll kick your ass out. You look good, Lo. Three of my friends wanted to fuck you, and I got you. Even some of the guys you think are hot wanted you. Now look at you. Fucking unemployed.” She shook her head, and her face flushed a dangerous pink.
My heart thudded faster at her judgment, but I tried to not even breathe. One time—and only one—I’d told her I’d been with a guy as well as women, and she’d flipped worse shit than this. The neighbors had called the cops that night and I’d almost ended up hauled away to jail because she wouldn’t stop crying when they showed up. Ever since, she’d kept tossing out tidbits to try to get me to bite. She hadn’t wanted to hear it when I said I was committed to her. I’d never made the mistake of being so honest with her again. I kept that part of me to myself.
Was this a subtle jab at that past fuckup, or was I reading too much into everything? I felt so crazy. I didn’t even know what was happening half the time anymore. Somehow she made me question things I saw with my own fucking eyes.
“Miranda, please. I worked every day. I put you down as a reference for all the applications I filled out online today. You’re my supervisor. Just tell them I do a good job at work.”
The corner of her lip curled into an imitation of a real smile. “You were the guy everyone wanted to fuck. But that was last year. Funny how your work slipped, along with everything else.” Disgust curled her lip, and she shook her head then snorted. “You think you do a good job?” Her lips quivered, and I could see her winding up to rant more and froze inside. “Other than being a decent fuck, you used to pay for everything when we went out. You stopped doing that long before you got fired.”
“You make more money than I do, and you want to go out all the time. No one can afford to go out five nights a week.” I wanted to beg her to understand, useless as that would be.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I thought you loved me,” I whispered.
“Please, who could love you? You spend too much time on your computer recording that stupid freaky shit you like.”
“Those ASMR videos bring me in some side cash, which you love to sp—”
She threw her hands up in the air and let out an ear-shattering shriek. “I don’t give a shit! I’m so sick of you and your excuses!”
The pounding from upstairs started again, and I was trapped in the worst way. When I glanced at the sink, Coy wasn’t moving, and my stomach twisted. I had no control over the tornado of insanity that swirled around me; no control of anything.
“I only just got fired. And I spent the rest of the day trying to find a new job. Have you felt this way about me the whole time?” Anger kicked up in me even though I knew it wouldn’t do any good, and my stomach burned hot.
She picked up the mouthwash from the countertop, and I didn’t think much of it as she twisted the lid off because she appeared to be winding down, though I backed up against the wall to stay out of her way. But then she struck, jerking the bottle toward me. I gasped as cool liquid doused my face. My eyes stung and I slammed them shut. My nose tingled with mint. I wiped at my eyes, and the sound of the plastic bottle clattering on the floor and her heels clicking away from me was a relief, even though my eyes continued to burn.
“Job or out,” she yelled from the living room. “I’m not paying a fucking dime for you. Your job is to make me blossom, not pluck my petals!”
When did this go so wrong? I felt around until I snagged a towel from the rack on the wall near the sink and used it to wipe at my face. The apartment door slammed, and I stood there shaking, feeling confused.
She’d essentially made sure I was fired, had even seemed happy about it because she loved having something to dangle over my head, and now she was furious about it? Miranda hadn’t stood up for me at work or to her boss; she’d been the one to fill out the paperwork to get me canned. My brother, Titus, had warned me last year before I moved in with her that getting into bed with my supervisor was a bad idea, but I’d thought she loved me.
Plus, when she wasn’t angry, she was so pretty and sweet. She was almost like two different people. Blinking my eyes open, I fixated on Coy where he floated in the water.
Dead.
It was stupid, he was only a fish, but the friendly white betta was very, very gone from this life. I scooped him up, couldn’t stand the thought of flushing him, so I wrapped him in TP and carefully took him outside the building. With an ache in my heart, I shivered in the winter air and buried him in a potted plant beside the front doors while mint tortured my nose.
Back inside I took a quick shower, carefully soaping up my chest. I’d lost some of my muscle in the last year because Miranda would blow up my phone every time I tried to go to the gym, and she wouldn’t let me have weights in the apartment because they were clutter. I knew I still looked okay, but were the changes in me why she’d decided I was the enemy?
I just couldn’t understand what I’d done to make her hate me so much.
Part of me was stunned, just like every time she did something mean. Somewhere deep in my gut was rage. Somehow these things were always my fault, and at the end of it all, I just felt confused and like shit.
When I got out of the shower, I dried off, then wrapped the thin pink towel from the rack around my waist. I went to our bedroom—all frilly and girly, with long pink curtains and sequined pillowcases I didn’t like because they scratched me when I tried to lie on them—and opened my laptop on the bed, putting on my headphones. I adjusted my microphone close to my mouth. The familiar icon of the recording program settled me a bit, and I clicked on the tiny microphone. The curtains were open on the window opposite me and I had a view of the wall on the other building—not exactly inspiring. The sun was going down and gloom crept into all the corners of the room while I sat there.
Coy had been a good fish, as far as they went, and Miranda hadn’t even cared he wasn’t okay. Sighing, I adjusted my mic again.
What would it be like to be with the person I’d thought Miranda was when we moved in together? Someone who thought I was nice and funny, and maybe liked me back as much as I liked them? What would it be like to have someone who would help me when I was struggling instead of kicking me down? I finally hit Record.
“Hey there, wonderful,” I said softly. “This is your boyfriend. I love you so much.” That’s what they would say to me. Longing and pain mixed together in me as I imagined hearing anything, anything at all, that was nice right now. “How can I make you happy this evening? Please. Tell me. I’ll do anything for you.”
I waited as if someone was responding to me, the way I usually did when I recorded these audio tracks, so whoever was listening could imagine what they would say—words whispered in the darkness I would never hear. I hoped this helped someone else. “It’s okay. I’ll do my best to please you, too.”
2
Jake North-Greenwood
