Bad Things

|Chapter Two|

The next day Jackson is at my apartment late afternoon. He's holding a bouquet of perfect red roses. I hate roses. They're too perfect, too red, too rosy. He puts his keys on the counter and I grab a vase. I smell them, trying to look gracious, even if I'm not.

"They're beautiful, thanks babe," I say kissing him.

"I'm sorry for running out last night," he says, looking sincere for once.

"It's okay, I overreacted," I tell him, I really had overreacted. He never said he was staying, and I had jumped him.

"I forgive you," he kisses my hair and we snuggle into the couch.

For the first time I'm wondering if this is worth it. If this cycle, fight then make up then do it all over again is worth it.

I love Jackson, I do, but what if things could be better, easier?

"I don't want to fight with you all the time, babe," I say. It's out of no where. We've been sitting in silence watching tv for an hour now.

"Well, maybe if you didn't jump to conclusions all the time, we wouldn't," his tone is playful, but his words are not.

"Are you saying the reason we fight all the time is because of me?" I ask incredulously. I feel my cheeks heating with rage. How fucking dare he blame all of our problems on me?

"No, babe, you know I don't mean it like that," he cajoles, wrapping an arm around my waist. He kisses my neck, but I pull away from him.

"Then how do you mean it?"

"Don't be like this," he begs, but it's too late.

"Oh, I must be starting another fight," I roll my eyes at him and push him off.

"Christ, Olivia, I thought we were going to have a nice night for once!" He explodes, getting up from the couch. He paces back and forth in front of me. Prowling like a preadator.

Had he always been this explosive?  I worry for the second time about his temper. I don't know how long I've been ignoring the signs.

"Please calm down, Jackson," I say, my voice trembles as I say it.

"You want me to calm down?!" He mocks, his arms spread wide and I realize it's to make me feel smaller, "you drug me into a fight, and I need to calm down. No, Olivia, you wanted this and this is what you are getting.  You don't want to fight anymore?  Stop forcing me into one."

Jackson is enraged, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. I watch him grab his hair and tear at the ends.

"You think I want to be mad all the time?  You think I enjoy this?"

I shrink farther into the couch while he leans over me. I flinch as he turns suddenly, he throws his fist into the mirror hanging beside the couch.

The mirror cracks into spiderwebs, a metaphor for our relationship, and I watch the blood drip from Jackson's knuckles.

"Fuck!" He yells, "look what you made me do!"

I spring into action, leading him to the kitchen sink to let the blood drip into the sink. I grab the first aid kit and begin cleaning up his hand. It looks bad and I get a little woozy looking at the gore.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," my voice quiet.

"Yeah, me too," he sighs, "I don't know why you insist on being like this."

I don't know what I'm being like, but I don't want to be in this conversation anymore. I want to fix his hand and I want him to go home. I want him out of my house for this first time in over a year. I wrap a bandage around his hand quietly. When it's done he sighs. It's a long suffering sigh, like he's world weary.