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A scowl mars his handsome face. “Have you thought about quitting like I asked?”
I wince at his question. I knew this topic would come up again and I had been hoping to put if off for as long as possible.
“I have.”
“And?”
I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for his reaction. I know he’s not going to be happy but I need to work.
Here it goes…
“I’m not quitting.”
The next thing I know, his plate is shattering against the wall, quickly followed by his fist smashing into the kitchen table. I gasp and look up in shock. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about my answer but I never expected anything like this.
“WHAT THE FUCK?”
I flinch.
“I don’t ask that much of you, Emma! I ask for one fuckin’ thing and you can’t even do that for me? If you really loved me, you would do what I fuckin’ ask!”
It takes me a minute but eventually, I find my backbone and stand up, ready to defend myself.
“Don’t you dare! I have done everything around here to make your life easier! I like working at the bar! I’m not quitting!”
He watches me, his jaw twitching and for the first time ever, I’m genuinely scared of what he may do.
“You don’t do anything! You sit around the house all goddamn day long, doing absolutely fucking nothing or you stay out in that studio, painting and neglecting me. You’re so lazy! Such a selfish, lazy bitch. Nobody else would put up with you.”
I feel the fury coursing through my body. How dare he say I don’t do anything? This house is always clean. I always have dinner ready. He always has clean clothes…what more does he want? Maybe I should just stop and then we’ll see what his reaction is. The more I stand here with the words he just spewed at me running through my head, the angrier I get and I know I need to walk away right now. Huffing in annoyance, I take off down the hallway to the bedroom so I can get ready for work.
“DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME!” he screams and his footsteps echo down the hallway as he rushes after me. Before I can react, he grabs my arm and spins me around, slamming me into the wall. Tears well in my eyes and I look up at him but his hazel gaze shows no sign of the man I know and love. I’m not even sure he realizes that he hurt me.
“Let me go,” I say through a veil of tears.
“Oh, don’t cry. This is your fault. If you would just do the one thing I asked you, then this wouldn’t have happened!”
I squirm, trying to worm my way out of his grip but he just holds me tighter. “Let me go,” I repeat, a little stronger this time and he releases my arm.
“You know what, screw it. The last thing I need to deal with is you being a bitch. I should just let you keep that job. You’re so stupid, it’s probably the only thing you can do,” he spits at me before stalking back into the living room and throwing himself onto the couch.
When I hear the TV turn on, I escape to the bedroom and lock the door. The tears stream down my face as sobs rack my body. I fall to the floor and cry harder, replaying the last five minutes in my mind over and over again.
What happened? I don’t understand where I went wrong. He just blew up for no reason, and why did he say such hateful things to me? I’ve been trying so hard to make him happy. Maybe he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. That thought causes a new kind of pain to surge through my chest.
My phone chimes in my back pocket and I pull it out to find a text from Bree, reminding me that I took her shift tonight. I shake my head in an effort to steel my heart and lock my emotions down deep inside. I can deal with this later. Right now, I need to get ready for work and I can’t start bawling in the bar in front of everyone. Time to suck it up.
