My stomach is in knots, shoulders tensed, body ridged as the front door swooshes open in the other room. I can tell her walk, know which boots she wears, as she storms into the apartment. The dog barrels in beside her, it's claws clack-clacking on the tiles.
I never know what the right move is here, and this time it's doubly worse. We had been fighting pretty bad for a long time til suddenly we both just stopped. I think I may've gotten apathetic to the rules and regulations, the courtroom procedure of it all, and just mmmhmmm-ed her to death.
This method, of course, angered her more than yelling at her, calling her names, breaking things. The only other thing that really got her goat, which I saved for desperate battles, was to laugh at her. Just guffaw at the whole epic, stupid ballet of pride, and show that she is the one making me crazy. That was the Doomsday Weapon.
I instinctively lowered the volume on the surround sound before she even entered, and rearranged my immediate surroundings so as to interact with her as little as possible. Hid away the weed, fanned the air to disperse the smell, lit another incense for good measure.
Looking at the dirty bowl that sat on the snack tray before me, I wished I'd had enough time to get it into the sink. I could just hear it now, as she turns the corner into the living room to see me sitting there, still undressed and unmotivated, as she instantly begins to demean and scold me.
But first, the dog ran in, tail whipping around, front paws scratching my legs as it tried to leap up onto my lap, while I thrust my elbow in its face, not hitting it per se, but smacking it enough that it should get the point; it doesn't. I shove it with both hands and it stumbles backwards as she enters the room.
"What the fuck...? Is there something wrong with you?" Her eyes are wide, mouth agape, horror on her face as if she's just walked in on me beating the animal to death with a baseball bat.
I didn't even think before I responded, "There's something wrong with that fucking dog!"
Insult her, her family (living or dead) or anyone she's ever known, but don't talk shit about the dog. Thems the rules. Everyone knows that. When I bought this dog with her, it changed her life. She was a mommy all of a sudden, and her furry fucking child was a major pain in the ass for me.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" She hadn't moved.
I thought about how to retreat from this, how to placate the situation, apologize and make good with the fucking canine in question, but seriously, fuck it. I don't know what it was that made me do what I did, and part of me definitely regrets it. In hindsight I saw that the dog didn't deserve that. It was a dumb ass dog after all.
"Fuck it." I stood up, looked her in the eye, let my gaze drift away from her as I glared down at the beast between us.
My leg reared back and I let loose a solid kick to its midsection. It yelped and ran off into the bedroom. I honestly didn't feel anything in that moment. Well, that's not true, I felt a sense on contentment that I'd never known before. My life as I knew it was over. That's why I did it.
I looked back up at her. I gave her the face that said, what are you going to do about it? My aggression was mirrored in her look of utter disbelief and shock. I wanted to hit her. I should have hit her. I only hit a girl once in my life and it was her. More of a smack really, but either way, I had to.
It was New Year's Eve and we were with all her guy friends, you know all the guys that were friends with her ex-boyfriend. The one that cheated on her endlessly over their four years together. And so, New Years Eve, end of the century, drunk and getting drunker with each shot, this is when she needed to see this ex, watch him operate as he flirted with every girl there as his current girlfriend was out of town.
Moments later, I feel a fist smash across my jaw, the car skidding across the ice on Sunrise Highway, my glasses flying from my face, the foot smashing out at me as she begins to scream her throat raw at me. I somehow get her back into my parents' house, and into my room. I barricade the door with my body as she continues to pummel me.
Bleeding, I stand up, as just about enough is enough. I look at her pathetic, unadulterated, incoherent madness and decide it's time to do something. I throw my arm wide and slap my palm against her face as hard as I possibly can, hoping that it knocks her unconscious. It doesn't. She hits me more.
I eventually let her leave to go drive her car into a brick wall, hoping she'll just die and leave me alone, but my mom and sister woke up from the noise and calmed her down. I don't even acknowledge anything and go right to sleep. The next day she's super pleasant but suddenly so sick she can't leave the bed.
A natural born fucking sucker, that's me. Two weeks of her invalid status makes me feel bad for her just enough to let the whole thing slide. But it never did slide did it. It more like crumbled everything inside me and now the whole fucking thing was coming down in an avalanche of aggression.
I was done being a fool.
"Go ahead, hit me." She knew; I knew she felt guilt about it, but never could acknowledge it.
I walked into the bedroom and grabbed my backpack. I threw a few white t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, some socks and boxers, and some paperbacks into it, zipped it up. In the other room I grabbed the weed, tucked it into the front pocket and threw it over my shoulder.
She still hadn't moved, but with a start she suddenly dashes to the bedroom, most likely to check on the one creature she loved on this planet. I got my toothbrush, whatever food I could take with me, and snatched up my laptop. I leaned towards the bedroom, listening to hear what she was doing in there.
I didn't hear anything.
"Go fuck yourself. And your little dog too."
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