“I believe the law allows for deserted homes. You left, and no one knew if you were coming back. Then I started squatting, and voila, you probably need to start paying me rent now.”
His nostrils flare. An explosion is coming, so I sip my tea, then pick his up. Ninja doesn’t move from his lap as I approach. Fast as a whip, I blow by and push the second glass into his hand until he’s forced to take it or drop it. I move out of the kitchen and find a duffel bag that I presume are his clothes. Tall crutches sit beside it, and a plastic bag full of meds beside that.
I pick up the duffel like I’m his nineteen-fifties housewife and head back through the kitchen. “I’m going to empty this out and run a load through the wash. Want me to wash what you’ve got on now?” I turn back and flash my filthiest – fakest – smile. “I could help you strip down. Could be fun.”
On a roar, he pegs the tumbler at the wall until Ninja bolts from the room and glass and tea shatter against every surface. Shards of glass nick my arm and cheek, drawing blood and an adrenaline surge that years of watching my cousin live in an abusive relationship has finely honed.
Any other situation, any other time, and I’d walk away from this and declare it good riddance. A man that explodes the way he is, a man that throws things… I’ve been trained for fifteen years not to accept that bullshit behavior.
A line of blood trickles over my arm, and I can feel another on my cheek, though I can’t tell if that’s blood or tears. If any of my girlfriends told me they were in this situation, I would get her out and she sure as hell would never be coming back, but this is different.
I feel this is different…
… said every abused woman in the history of the world.
“Andi…” He rolls forward an inch. Finally, his eyes hold something other than the anger. It’s still there. It’s still potent, but I’m bleeding, and that hurts him more than a missing leg. “I’m sor–”
“Watch your back, Riley Cruz. Sleep with one eye open, because you might wake tomorrow to find your dick missing. I promise in comparison, your leg won’t bother you anymore.” I turn on my heels when his eyes flash with rage. I carry the duffel through the hall and into the laundry, swiping my cheek over the shoulder of his shirt to collect my stupid tears. Dumping the bag’s contents in one load, I hope I ruin his jeans by washing them with something they’re not supposed to be with. Plopping a cup full of laundry powder on top and slamming my fist over the control panel, I take my bad mood out on the machine.
Turning and leaning against the machine, I stare at the single line of crimson red that dribbles along my arm.
So fucking dramatic, Andi. You just had to go and bleed to prove a point.
Ninja’s litter box catches my attention, so I scoop up the single log of poop and take care of that, then I head to the guest bathroom and pretend I don’t catch glimpses of Riley sitting in the exact same spot in the kitchen with his head bowed with defeat. I don’t want to feel bad for him right now. I want to light a fire under his ass and get him up.
The longer he sits in a chair, the longer he’ll stay in a chair.
He needs to get up and walk again, and sympathy isn’t going to get him there, so I’ll play the part of punching bag and verbal assault sponge, I’ll absorb his bullshit, then when he’s up and not feeling sorry for himself anymore, I’ll deck him as punishment for making me cry.
Asshole.
In the bathroom, I sit on the edge of the bath and soak a face cloth under the cold tap. Wringing it out and bringing it up to my arm, I shake my head and clean up the mess one single line of blood could make. I have no glass in me, no splinters, just the smudged line and a tiny cut that won’t even need a Band-Aid. I’m more pissed about the tea I’ll have to clean, the fact I’ll have to submit in front of him, lower to my knees while he watches on, and clean a mess he made.
That’s just… I let out a deep breath. It goes against every fiber of my being to bow down like that. Nobody ever said I was meek or submissive. But I will. I’ll clean up his mess, then I’ll sleep in his home for as long as it takes to help. I’ll go to bed each night in the guest room, I’ll pretend like his hatred doesn’t break my heart. I’ll build him up again, one shitty day after the other, one shaky step after the other.
I will not walk away until he’s strong again, because my heart won’t let me go.
When a woman goes ahead and falls in love with a sweet man, a man that challenges her in every way, but stimulates her; mind, body, and soul, when he smiles at her, and that act alone makes her heart race, when he whispers sweet nothings in the middle of the night when he thinks she’s asleep, then she’s a slave to him. Even the most independent and headstrong woman will bow down to him, because the heart will always win over the mind.
Squeaking rubber to my left draws my attention. Wheelchair bound, hands on the wheels, large chest expanding, Riley stares at my arm with what could only be grief in his eyes.
I’msupposedto bow down, but I’m still pissed, so I stand from the tub and walk toward him. His eyes widen the closer I come. For the first – and probablyonly– time in our lives, he has to bend his neck to maintain eye contact. I tower over him and revel in my power. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, I shake my head and slam the door in his face.
He promised once upon a time that, if someone is calling me names, he’d let me deal with my own shit. But if someone made me cry for real, he’d take care of it.
Fuck him for making me cry for real.
I’ll come back out when I’m good and ready, then I’ll try the bowing down shit again.