Say Please

I Don't Care

I opened the door to Mark and I's shoebox apartment. It smelled of pasta and the sea—a familiar scent since our deck poked out a block away from the rocky, city beach.

"Hey babe," I called out to the void.

"How was your day?" Mark called from around the corner. "I made spaghetti!"

I wandered toward the garlicky, tomato smell. Mark's long hair was wrapped in a bun on the top of his head—strands falling out randomly to the sides. He wore a black, pocket tee and loose fitting joggers. I slipped my hands around his waist for a warm embrace.

He pulled away. "I'm stirring the sauce! Don't want to make a mess now do we?" He exclaimed dramatically.

"It smells delicious," I replied with a smile, shrugging off his dramatics. I took a seat at our counter bar and watched as he plated portions for him and I, topping each with a sprinkle of Parmesan. He set mine down in front of me and took a seat on the stool to the left of mine.

"So," he began, "how was your first day?" He sounded uninterested—like he was programmed to say that but didn't actually want to know.

"It was good," I replied, short and sweet, "I met a new friend. We had a drink after work."

His eyebrow raised. "Oh? And who is this... friend."

"Chill," I raised my hand. "Her name is Bri." His shoulders visibly relaxed at her name.

"Okay."

"Also, I met the people I'm working closely with and—"

"I had a good day too, thanks for asking," he jested, elbowing me.

"I was getting to that I promise," I added.

For the next ten minutes, he talked about the work he got done while working out in the living room—perks of working virtually, I guess. He threw out endless compliments of how quickly he was able to 'seal the deal' and how his charms worked on everyone he came across and how his boss only spoke highly of him. I nodded along and hummed in response to ensure he knew I was listening.

Mark was wonderful—don't get me wrong. He was smart, driven, strong-willed, and handsome. We had met soon after I started my marketing career at a up and coming tech company. He was a team leader at the start-up and we ended up spending a lot of time together. Things felt natural with him, and we clicked almost immediately. We had also realized that we grew up less than an hour away from each other.

Things were really good with Mark up until a year ago. I was doing our laundry one afternoon and found a receipt for the fancy Italian restaurant up the road from our apartment—specifically, one we had never been to. The tab he had wracked up was well into the hundreds, and was paid for my a credit card.

When I asked him about it, and he waved it off. "Work meeting," he said. I believed him, until the next receipt, this time for a high end sushi restaurant with a three hundred dollar tab. I asked a few more questions than the last time, like who was there that was so important, and if he could give me specific names. His defensiveness shut me down quickly.

"Are you my stalker or something?" He had snarled at me. Those words were strong, and I myself had started to feel like I was the issue. I didn't mention the next five receipts I had found over the following three months. I didn't want to look at them. I didn't want to think about them.

Blissfully ignorant, we went about our relationship like there wasn't this gaping hole in our love. His infidelity left me uninterested in bed, but I made myself pretend to love it for the security of our relationship. At this point, we had our finances tangled in many things: our apartment, our insurance, our daily necessities. I was scared to think of any alternative.

That is, until my start at Cloudy Day Publishing. Not only did this job come with a large raise, it came with security. Not that I wasn't still trying to make this work, but I told myself that he had no more free cards.

We sat at the counter together and ate in silence. Once we were close to finished, I continued to talk about my day. "So, I actually get put with a small team of people and work exclusively with their work."

"Oh?" Mark responded, half-listening.

"I'm working with two editors—Lyra and Chan—and I've met all my team members in the other departments and I think it'll be really great."

"Have you met Lyra and Chan?" He scoffed slightly at the name, clearly assuming he was male.

"I briefly talked to Lyra earlier. She's not much of a chatter. Chan was the second one to introduce himself to me today and seems really friendly. I think we'll get along well." Mark turned to me with an eyebrow raised. I noticed his fist was twisted tightly around his fork.

"Friendly, huh?"

"Yes," I replied, crossing my arms, "people are allowed to be friendly."

"Yes, but you're a hot woman. He one hundred percent wants to fuck you, babe."

I held my hand up. "One, there's no way for you to know that because you've never even met him. Two, you don't need to worry."

"It's not you I don't trust." He rolled his eyes, "it's him." My heart beat faster as the anger in me grew. How dare he be this way when we both know he's been lying to me for years about what he does when I'm not around.

"Three," I said with a bite to the word, "you do not get to be pissed over a conversation, Mark. Not after what we both know you've done."

"I don't know what you mean." He spit every word at me, as if to say 'conversation over.'

"Mmm," was all I could respond. I gathered my empty bowl and began to load the dishwasher with our dirty dishes. I felt his hand on the small of my back.

"Sorry, babe. I didn't mean to freak out on you. I love you with my heart and soul. I would never do anything to jeopardize that." He was full of shit. I knew it. I'm sure he knew it, too. I put on my best smile of feigned forgiveness.

"I know, babe."