Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 7

John is silent the whole drive home; he doesn't glance at me once. The silence is deafening, but I refuse to break first. He can stew in his misplaced anger for as long as he wants. Why is he acting as if I didn't do exactly what he asked of me? This man is fucking exhausting and I couldn't be more done with him and this joke of a marriage if I tried. As soon as the car comes to a stop in the driveway, I jump out and head towards the house.

I've already unlocked the front door and am heading towards the stairs by the time he catches up to me. He grabs my arm, almost in the exact same spot where I am currently littered with bruises. He pulls me around to face him, his anger palpable. My face gives nothing away, although I can admit that I'm a little nervous.

"What the fuck was that tonight?" He spits at me. It takes a lot not to roll my eyes at him.

"What are you talking about, John?" I say, exasperated. "Please tell me you are not angry at me for doing exactly what you told me to do?"

"I told you to charm him, not throw yourself at him." His fingers are digging painfully into my arm, but I won't try to pull away. It will just fuel his anger more if I try.

"Throw myself at him? John, we were dancing! You know, that thing you specifically told me to do with him." His jealousy always gets the best of him, which is why I'm surprised that he ever even suggested it.

"You seemed awfully close for two people who were just dancing." John throws the accusation at me.

"Oh yes, I forgot that most people dance with each other from opposite sides of the fucking dancefloor." I say dryly. "John, honestly, I am too tired to deal with you acting like this tonight. I did exactly what you asked of me and yet, somehow, I am still in the wrong. Your jealousy is showing, it's not a good look."

I try to pull away from him because I'm done with the conversation. It doesn't appear he is, though, as he forces me back against the wall, bringing his face close to mine.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm fucking talking about, Alex. I told you to dance with him, win him over, not drape yourself all over him like a cheap whore."

"Fuck you, John!" I say angrily, as I attempt to push him away from me. But that seems to set him off even more. His fist comes up and I try my best not to flinch as he punches the wall right by my face. Not at all surprised when it goes straight through the drywall.

Pulling his fist from the hole, he looks down at it as if he's shocked by the outcome. Acting as if we haven't done this a thousand times before. I've lost count of the number of holes I've had to repair over the years. Here it comes, his moment of remorse and inevitable apology. Finally, he drops his other hand that was still grasping at my upper arm. Running it through his hair, he looks down at me and lets out a sigh of frustration.

"Look, I'm sorry, Alex. Tonight was just a lot, okay." He looks at me with those pleading puppy dog eyes that used to work on me. "You don't know how hard it is watching the way other men look at you. As if you're just some piece of meat. I lost it when I saw his hands on you. I'm sorry. You're right, it was my idea and I'm grateful for your help. I'll do better next time, I promise."

I say nothing; there's nothing I want to say to him. Next time? As if I'm ever going to help him with Barnes again. Nope, I'm done with that. John's a jealous asshole and Barnes is an arrogant dick. They can leave me out of it from now on.

Without another word, I head upstairs to my bedroom, not bothering to look back at him. Locking the door behind me as soon as I'm in my room, already peeling the dress from my body. Excited by the prospect of a hot shower to help wash the night away. I can still smell Barnes cologne all over me, and I need to remedy that as soon as possible.