“All right, fine. But I’m coming with you, no questions. I wanna see you tucked into that bed with my own eyes,” I say, giving him a stern look.
“Sometimes I wonder if you realize I’m the adult here,” he grumbles.
“Hey, I’m an adult too!” I protest, taking a big bite of my burger.
He shrugs. “Barely.”
We finish our burgers in silence, and I clean up the wrappers. After a while, Howie breaks the silence. “How’re you doing, Lina?”
I huff. “I feel like I am mentally and emotionally hitting a brick wall.”
He scratches his beard. “You know, sometimes walls are there to lean on and rest for a bit.”
After hangingout with Howie a bit longer, I take his advice and call it an early night. Maybe I can do some job hunting online before going to bed.
I unlock the door to our apartment and step inside. Wednesdays are Happy Hour nights at Roberto’s usual bar, so I’ll have a quiet house until Chiara comes back from Monica’s.
I head to the kitchen and start rifling through the cupboards. Even though I’ve already had a burger with Howie, the stress of losing my job is making my emotions go haywire. I need some comfort food to help me cope.
Healthy? Nah. Effective? Abso-fucking-lutely.
When I turn around with a loaf of bread in my hands, I see Roberto standing in the kitchen doorway.
Fuck.
He’s dressed in a grubby, yellow-stained white tank top and dirty sweatpants, clutching a half-empty bottle of vodka. I can practically smell the stench from here.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he slurs at me.
“I—” I start, trying to put some distance between us, but he follows.
“Again, no money! We have a problem, pig?”
“There was an issue at work, but I promise I’ll get you the money soon. I—” I try to explain, but he cuts me off by slamming his palm onto the kitchen counter.
“I don’t care what problems you’ve got. You’re giving me my money now,” Roberto demands, his body swaying slightly.
I don’t have anything to give him. Every penny I have is accounted for. I prepare myself for what’s bound to happen next, retreating into the safe corner of my mind where I always hide when he reduces me to a victim.
Keeping my outward calm, I say, “I don’t have your money.”
The next moment, an unbearable pain shoots through my left shoulder, followed by a sharp pain in my temple before I feel something warm trickle down the side of my face. In shock, I look at Roberto, who is staring at what’s left of the vodka bottle. He’s only holding the neck. The rest is scattered in shards around us on the floor.
“You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your head like I wanted to. I want my money. I don’t care how you get it,” he growls and drops the bottleneck, which shatters into a thousand pieces. “And get me another bottle of vodka, dammit!” Then he stomps to the living room, where the television flicks on.
I’m in shock, feeling my pulse throb in my shoulder and temple. With trembling fingers, I gingerly touch the tender area of my temple, feeling the wetness of blood and the raised skin. The sharp sting that follows makes me wince, drawing a pained breath.
Fuck.
Avoiding the shards of glass, I make my way to the bathroom. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I see a small piece ofglass lodged in my temple. Blood trickles down the side of my face, staining my collar.
At least it was vodka. That shit is sterilizing, right?
I look closer, and a cold chill runs down my spine at the sight. It’s a small piece, but it’s embedded pretty deep. I take a shaky breath, my mind racing.
I need to get it out.
I open the medicine cabinet, searching for the small first-aid kit I know is in there. I take a pair of tweezers from the kit and quickly clean them by running them under hot water.
