To Be Loved

II

"I don't understand what your problem is, we were having such a good time!" Eli paces a couple feet in front of Margaux. He's tugging on his jacket sleeves, kicking up dust and rock to appease his need to kick something harder. Like that car over there.

" I just didn't feel well—"

"Aww you didn't feel well? Really." Eli taunts "you're acting like such a bitch right now, you never feel well for anything. Anything fun it's 'babe my stomach hurts,' 'babe can we leave this place,' 'babe I don't think I want to be here anymore'. Honestly M why do you even come in the first place if you just plan to ruin things?"
Margaux draws in a breath when she could feel the bristling of cactus-like needles pricking her cheeks. You'd think after months of insult she'd be used to it, but it still hurt and she still had to ready herself for the tears that threatened to spill out.

"Eli I didn't mean t—"

"Like I just don't get it. Do you think I'm stupid? Honestly. Because everything's great when we're doing what you want but when I want to do something you immediately don't feel well. Bullshit. That's bullshit M.
So sick and tired of hearing your stupid, whiny voice right now. Like just don't fucking come when I invite you places."

Her boyfriend continued to curse more or less under his breath as he concentrated to open his car without damaging the poor thing anymore than it already was. From past tantrums, obviously.

This happens every time, remember ? Margaux tried to remind herself. We'll be fine in a couple days.

As they get inside, Margaux tries, taking slow breaths to calm herself, to start again. "Eli, babe, I promise you I didn't mean—"

"My god," Eli slams the side of his fist on the area above the car's radio "just fucking shut up! Cant you tell I'm pissed right now? It's always 'Eli you're scaring me, Eli calm down' like what the fuck if you know I get angry then don't push me to my fucking limit." He continues to beat down on the car, his head shaking as he does so, his hand bleeding out from a freshly scarred cut he got—probably two nights ago from his mom—but in that moment, all Margaux could think about was how relieved she was that the windows were rolled up and no one was around to see them.

She was still scared though. Eli's never actually physically hurt her before. Well. He's never beat down on her or treated her the way he's treating his car, if we want to be technical. But nevertheless, she still flinched at the thought that the next time he raised his hand, it would come down on her.

So she did as told and shut up. Margaux fastened her seatbelt and tried to look straight ahead, but found herself turning away from Eli to keep her boyfriend from seeing the tears she had fought so hard to keep from falling.

Eli didn't say anything either. He wiped his lightly bloodied hand on his left sleeve and started the car without another word. He'll fake indifference for the entirety of the car ride and then apologize to her in the morning, Margaux knew, since she'd seen it all before.

The Eatily sat on the edge of the downtown area, which meant it was only about a ten minute drive from there to her house. But that car ride, with the windows rolled up and the scent of angry sweat and legs, Margaux' legs, bound tightly together by nerves and tension. That car ride felt like an hour. It felt like  she'd taken shelter inside a bomb and all she could do was hold her breath for as long as she could. The way she would do it under water, like in Jaws or something when they're trying not to drown—because that's what she was doing. Trying not to drown.

When Eli stopped the car in front of her house, she turned to him to say goodbye but he didn't turn to meet her gaze and instead stubbornly looked straight ahead, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his hands loosening and tightening around the wheel. Margaux could feel the tears starting up again and got out of the car before he could see them, gently shutting the door. She watched as his car rattled away, tightening her grip on her cardigan, on the area over her heart. He would apologize to her in the morning, Margaux knew, and so she desperately held on to the promise of tomorrow.