in front of me is a mix of colored blobs.
I make the sharp left turn onto my street. I pull in the driveway and sit in my truck, watching the house, even though the window moves every five seconds. I rub my temples. If I go in there and I start in on her, I may not be able to stop. I'll have Tawny's blood on my hands. I could leave now, drive until I run out of gas. Leave her high and dry to fend for herself.
You have no job. No future. You're worthless. A drunk . You are your father .
I slam my hand against the steering wheel. I am not my father. I'm better than my father. I only hit her when she deserves it. My father liked to hit for fun.
Just get it over with. Maybe she's had enough time to cool down, and everything will be fine. I head to the front door thinking it'll still be locked, but it opens right up. It's eerily quiet as I walk down the hall. I expect Tawny to be in the kitchen, but all I find is an open bottle of whiskey. Did I drink that last night? I can't remember.
I make my way to the bedroom, and that's when I see an open suitcase and clothes scattered all over the bed and the floor. Tawny is sitting in the chair by the window, her legs dangling over the side. She holds a glass of amber liquid, swirling it around. A white towel, stained crimson, is crumpled on the floor.
"What the fuck?"
She cocks her head in my direction and stares at me. "I didn't expect you home this early."
"What's going on here?"
"What does it look like?"
I pick up a dress off the bed and clutch it in my hands. "It looks like you're trying to leave me. Am I right?"
"You're damn right I'm leaving. I'm done with your shit. Do you know what happened last night?"
"You were bad. So I punished you."
She scowls at me, every part of her oozing fury. "You killed our baby."
I swipe the suitcase off the bed and it lands on the floor with a thump. "Jesus, Tawny. You were not pregnant and you're not going anywhere, either."
"Try and stop me," she taunts.
I ball my fists together and rush to her, but she's quicker than I am. She's on the other side of the bed, the queen-sized mattress the only thing between us.
"What are you going to do? Hit me? Smash my head into the table again? Force yourself on me when I'm so clearly disgusted by you?"
"You fucking bitch!" I shout. "I'm gonna wring your neck until you beg me to let you go, and then I'm going to slit your throat. You think you're so smart—making up lies about your pregnancy. No one will buy that shit. The doctors will back me up."
She doesn't stand down. "The doctors said it was unlikely, not impossible. But I don't think you even know the difference between the two."
She's not even scared of me right now. She's talking to me like my father did when I was a child. When I was too young to stop him. When I was too afraid to shut him up the same way I shut Tawny up. No one talks to me like that anymore. Especially not my lying wife.
This time when I run toward her, I catch her arm before she can get away. I slam her body into the wall. She groans and slides down. I punch her in the gut before she reaches the floor. She holds her stomach and gasps. "I told you that you weren't ever gonna get away from me. You've pushed your luck too far this time. You'll never leave me. You'll die before I let that happen."
I yank her up by her hair and land a blow to her jaw. The adrenaline shoots through my hands. I look at them like they're golden boxing gloves. It's amazing the damage my fists can do. She hasn't passed out yet. I guess I'll need to hit harder with this next one. I wind up, ready to put all my force behind it, but I see her knee a second too late. Unbearable pain shoots from my balls all the way through my legs, and I double over. The pain works itself to my stomach, where it mingles with the booze and pushes bile up to the base of my throat.
Her kick pushed me backwards, gave her distance from me. I stand, even though the pain is throbbing,
I make the sharp left turn onto my street. I pull in the driveway and sit in my truck, watching the house, even though the window moves every five seconds. I rub my temples. If I go in there and I start in on her, I may not be able to stop. I'll have Tawny's blood on my hands. I could leave now, drive until I run out of gas. Leave her high and dry to fend for herself.
You have no job. No future. You're worthless. A drunk . You are your father .
I slam my hand against the steering wheel. I am not my father. I'm better than my father. I only hit her when she deserves it. My father liked to hit for fun.
Just get it over with. Maybe she's had enough time to cool down, and everything will be fine. I head to the front door thinking it'll still be locked, but it opens right up. It's eerily quiet as I walk down the hall. I expect Tawny to be in the kitchen, but all I find is an open bottle of whiskey. Did I drink that last night? I can't remember.
I make my way to the bedroom, and that's when I see an open suitcase and clothes scattered all over the bed and the floor. Tawny is sitting in the chair by the window, her legs dangling over the side. She holds a glass of amber liquid, swirling it around. A white towel, stained crimson, is crumpled on the floor.
"What the fuck?"
She cocks her head in my direction and stares at me. "I didn't expect you home this early."
"What's going on here?"
"What does it look like?"
I pick up a dress off the bed and clutch it in my hands. "It looks like you're trying to leave me. Am I right?"
"You're damn right I'm leaving. I'm done with your shit. Do you know what happened last night?"
"You were bad. So I punished you."
She scowls at me, every part of her oozing fury. "You killed our baby."
I swipe the suitcase off the bed and it lands on the floor with a thump. "Jesus, Tawny. You were not pregnant and you're not going anywhere, either."
"Try and stop me," she taunts.
I ball my fists together and rush to her, but she's quicker than I am. She's on the other side of the bed, the queen-sized mattress the only thing between us.
"What are you going to do? Hit me? Smash my head into the table again? Force yourself on me when I'm so clearly disgusted by you?"
"You fucking bitch!" I shout. "I'm gonna wring your neck until you beg me to let you go, and then I'm going to slit your throat. You think you're so smart—making up lies about your pregnancy. No one will buy that shit. The doctors will back me up."
She doesn't stand down. "The doctors said it was unlikely, not impossible. But I don't think you even know the difference between the two."
She's not even scared of me right now. She's talking to me like my father did when I was a child. When I was too young to stop him. When I was too afraid to shut him up the same way I shut Tawny up. No one talks to me like that anymore. Especially not my lying wife.
This time when I run toward her, I catch her arm before she can get away. I slam her body into the wall. She groans and slides down. I punch her in the gut before she reaches the floor. She holds her stomach and gasps. "I told you that you weren't ever gonna get away from me. You've pushed your luck too far this time. You'll never leave me. You'll die before I let that happen."
I yank her up by her hair and land a blow to her jaw. The adrenaline shoots through my hands. I look at them like they're golden boxing gloves. It's amazing the damage my fists can do. She hasn't passed out yet. I guess I'll need to hit harder with this next one. I wind up, ready to put all my force behind it, but I see her knee a second too late. Unbearable pain shoots from my balls all the way through my legs, and I double over. The pain works itself to my stomach, where it mingles with the booze and pushes bile up to the base of my throat.
Her kick pushed me backwards, gave her distance from me. I stand, even though the pain is throbbing,
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