Stay With Me

Chapter 3

I let out a loud scream as I thrusted the glass bowl against the wall, shattering it into multiple pieces. "Fuck everything!" I yelled in complete aggravation. I grabbed a piece of glass with a jagged edge, and curled it into my hand until multiple droplets of blood ran down my arm.

It was the most refreshing pain I had ever received, making me smile and wince at the same time. I wondered why I never tried this before. I continued to squeeze the glass until I could no longer distinguish it from my hand due to all the blood.

Sighing happily, I went to the sink to wash off the wound. It ran down the length of my hand, and about an inch deep. It was unexplainably satisfying to focus on physical pain than the emotional pain I carried inside. I needed a break, and I got exactly what I sought after.

I bandaged up my hand with gauze, and went to sit on the porch. As I stared at the sky, I began to recall all the reasons I was so upset, and the high from self-harm eventually faded.

I felt myself begin to get angry again, and I was tempted to repeat the process, but then he showed up. I stifled an eye roll as I folded my arms. I was not particularly unhappy to see him, but I was not particularly happy either.

"Hi." He greeted. He seemed like he wanted to sit next to me, but for whatever reason he decided not to.

"Hi." I said curtly, and he raised his eyebrows at my tone.

"What's wrong with you?"

I don't answer. Instead I hoisted myself up from the porch, and stormed in the house. He follows after me, and I stop in the kitchen. He surveys the broken glass, and looks to me with confusion. If I had known he would be home this early, I would have cleaned it up.

"What happened here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I retort, playing dumb. I did not want to discuss why I was angry, so this seemed like the next best option.

"Oh really?" He chuckled humorlessly. "So you don't know how my mother's bowl got smashed?"

I bit my lip. I forgot that bowl actually meant something to him. I felt bad, and I did not really know what to say. I just stood there looking back and forth from him to the shattered bowl.

When he did not speak, I felt the need to say something. "Sorry?" I offered unsurely knowing it probably would not help.

"Bullshit." He said.

We stayed in silence for a few more moments before he sighed. "I don't even care about the bowl, ok? Just tell me what's wrong."

The invitation seemed so inviting, but I could not do it. At that moment, I felt much better keeping what was bothering me inside, somehow it felt safer that way.

"I'm fine."

He shook his head. "No you're not, stop lying."

I rolled my eyes, and turned to walk out of the kitchen. He grabbed my arms, and spun me around to face him. I wanted to spit in his face, but I was not sure that would go over to well.

"What the hell do you want?" I asked angrily.

"I want to know what your problem is." He answered calmly, still holding on tightly to my arm. My gaze dropped, and I suddenly became very interested in the tile on the floor.

"I don't have one." I said, and he snorted.

This irritated me, and I decided to tell him what was really on my mind. "You want to know what my problem is? I'm tired of you, and this sorry ass relationship!" I yelled, tears flowing like streams down my cheeks.

He closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. "Not again."

"Yes again! Everyday I try and try to work at it, but it gets nowhere. We just don't click like we need to, we're always fighting, and we haven't progressed at all in our relationship."

"That's not my fault, I have proposed to you at least five times!"

I scoffed. "Do you really think we need to bring this type of baggage into a marriage? At least now you can leave anytime you want to." I said, although it was difficult for me to speak past the lump in my throat.

"Do you really think not being married makes it easier for me to leave you? Notice, every time I have left you threw me out. I've never left you on my own free will, and I never will." He said, his eyes sadder than I've seen them in a long time.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. "I don't know what to do."

He glances at me. "Than don't do anything."

That was easier said than done. If I did not do anything I would continue to be unhappy, if I did do something I would more than likely still be unhappy. I could not win, and I found that to be a reoccurring pattern in my life.

"Do you love me?" He asked, interrupting my thoughts.

That was such a dumb question. Of course, I loved him. That was never the problem, he just was not making me happy anymore. I was not even sure he ever did. "Yes, but that still does not change anything."

He wrapped a warm arm around my waist, pulling me into him. "It changes everything, because as long as we have love, we will always have a reason to be together."

I took in his words, and I came to the realization that he was right. I was always so busy looking for a perfect and blissful relationship, I was missing out on what was right in front of me, true love.

I reached up to cradle his face in my bandaged hand, but he moved it off, holding it up for inspection. He creased his eyebrows suspiciously as he looked at my hand, and then to the broken glass on the floor.

He let out a loud groan. "You didn't."

"What?" I asked innocently, my heart beating faster and faster. My eyes darted around the room frantically, I could not believe he figured out what I did so quickly. I thought for sure I would be able to get away with out it being detected.

"Look at me!" He demanded, and I swallowed. "Please tell me you did not intentionally hurt your hand."

I did not say a word. He looked absolutely furious. His jaw was bolted shut, his nostrils flared, and his hands were clutched in fist. He was usually excellent at keeping his composure, especially when it came to me. It was rare that I saw him this angry. I stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

He seemed to be at war with himself, as he reached out to sweep the loose hair out of my face. The light touch left me yearning for more. "I know things are tough, but we'll get through it together. This-" He said, gently holding up my hand. "Cannot happen. I can't sit back, and let you hurt yourself like this.

"You don't understand." I said, turning away from him again. Of course, he turned me right back around, making me wonder why I even tried. He put his hands on each of my cheeks, looking deep into my eyes.

"Yes I do. Don't ever think I'm just sitting around why you're hurting, because I hurt with you." He declared, his voice taking on a grave tone. I felt awful for the pain I was causing him.

"I promise not to do it again." I said, but I was not quite sure I could keep that promise. As impossible as it seemed, hurting myself was the most freeing thing I did in a long time.

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