“Babe, no. Don’t you remember? You donated your winter coat and all those clothes.”
I go still. “What are you talking about? And don’t call me ‘babe.’”
His eyes lift to mine. “Yeah, you were all like, ‘God, New York City apartments are so small. What am I supposed to do with all this winter gear? It’s not like I’ll be able to leave any time soon.’ Then you started to talk about those clothes you wanted to donate so I took the clothes and your coats and got rid of them. You can get a new one next year.”
“You had no right,” I snap, seething.
Bryan lifts his plate and throws it across the room, narrowly missing my head.
I flinch and duck.
“I was doing you a favor! Try being grateful for once!”
I don’t respond. I set about cleaning up the mess he made. I slice my finger on the plate, but don’t react. I’m not going to make a big deal right now. I don’t care if I can’t find my stuff; I’m leaving tonight no matter what.
I offer to go get the ingredients for dinner that night but he insists on getting them himself to ensure that they’re right. The snow that started light in the morning is really coming down now. The wind howls outside the window and makes it look like I’m trapped in a snow globe. A fleeting thought of how it must look outside Charlie’s windows has me wishing I could see Bonsai and Mochi’s first interaction with snow. As these thoughts flit through my mind, I actually feel a shooting pang through my heart.
The steak is too well done, the mashed potatoes are too mealy, and the asparagus is bland. With every bite of food, Bryan sighs heavily, obviously frustrated that I screwed up the entire meal. There are a lot of frustrated sighs lately; seemingly over everything that I do or don’t do. It really doesn’t make much sense why he wants to be with me. I never seem to do anything right. Bryan only brought home one steak; just enough for him. With every bite, there's a comment that it’s too chewy or not red enough for such a red-blooded man. My eyes nearly roll back into my head.
I wasn’t successful in finding anything I was looking for. I tried to put my phone back together but it never powered on. It just looks sad and lifeless instead.
My plate is sparse with just asparagus and a small helping of mashed potatoes. Even then, he reaches to my place for forkfuls of the starch, as if mine is somehow better than his.
“What is your problem, Bryan?” I ask, already flinching away from him as I clear the plates. I never realized I had developed that reflex, to do it before I’ve even finished pissing him off. I should be keeping calm, thereby keeping him calm. But I can’t be meek and keep myself from standing up to him. He’s a bully and my parents raised me to stand up to bullies. Maybe I forgot about that somewhere along the way, but Charlie helped me find that again.
Every word tonight has grated on me like a raw nerve and I can’t take it any longer. I can’t listen to his incessant whining. I’m better than that, and that’s why I lose my patience.
“My problem?” He grabs my wrist and squeezes until I drop the plates, shattering the ceramic. I can feel the bones grinding together but I grit my teeth, refusing to react. Naturally it’s the wrist that was broken in the accident that he’s crushing in his grip.
“My problem is that you expected me to take you back after you whored around with that prick. You are disgusting.” He points to the mess on the floor. “Clean it up.”
I try to twist my wrist away from him. “I can’t until you let me go,” I say, causing him to tug me towards him, so we are nose to nose.
“It seems you not only forgot how to cook but also your common sense. You should know better than to speak back to your betters. You disgust me.” He releases my wrist and pushes me away. I bend over to pick up the broken pieces, setting them on the largest piece. Being on my hands and knees in front of him makes my head spin with anger. I do lose all common sense but not because he’s my better in any way.
“I apparently also forgot you’re a misogynistic dick but we all have to make due,” I mutter. I’m distracted by wiping the abundant steak sauce, the only thing that could salvage my meal, off the floor, so I don’t see the kick coming until it lands on my ribs.
The air whooshes from my lungs. I curl up in a fetal position, and some of my memories kick in. I remember the first time he kicked me, immediately dropping to his knees to apologize and saying he loved me.
I get back on my hands and knees as I fight to suck in air. The memory and this kick has left me spiraling. I need to get out of here and away from him.
I choose to ignore him and go back to cleaning. This is the wrong move and he kicks me again. This time I cry out. I have no frame of reference if this is good or bad for how he behaves.
I think that Charlie is what changed things. My relationship with him made me better, and Bryan sees he can’t control me as easily as before. It’s why my ID and credit cards are out of reach. It's why he gave away my winter coat and made me reliant on him. I’m trapped in this hell of my own making.
“I’m sorry,” Bryan says as he gets on his knees to help me clean up. “This was supposed to be a nice Valentine's Day dinner and it’s been ruined. We should just skip dessert. You don’t need the extra weight anyway, since it would just go straight to your hips.”
He stays beside me as I wheeze, trying to get a deep breath in and finish cleaning the mess on the floor. I give him a weak smile and ask him to set up the movie while I do the dishes. When I stand up, his hand curls in my hair and he grabs a fistful of it. I’m too aware that the steak knife is still sitting on the table where he left it. I don’t think he would kill me but I just don’t know.
He kisses me instead. His chapped lips are rough against mine but I relax a little.
I turn to put the broken dish in the trash. “Why don’t you...”
My words are cut off when he cracks my head into the doorway to the living room. The blow glances too close to my eye for comfort. It makes my knees weak but I don’t drop down again. I won’t let myself be so vulnerable. He grabs my throat, not enough to restrict airflow, but enough to remind me that he is in control.
“You shouldn’t worry about suggesting things. You’ve made it clear that you’re not great at thinking for yourself. Your mouth is better suited to other activities.” He grabs his crotch as if his meaning wasn’t clear enough.
With his hands still on me, I start to remember why I was on my bike in the rain in the middle of the night. I remember bruises that became too hard to explain in an office so I quit and started to work freelance. I remember begging Vivian to delete all the photos of us on Pictogram because Bryan hated seeing me with Vivian, even if they were taken before we met. I remember the friends who were uncomfortable with how he treated me, slowly distancing themselves after their concerns fell on deaf ears.