Married Too Fast

Constant Shouting

***Tara's POV***

"Tara! What the hell are you doing?!" an angry Duff yelled at me.

I looked up and thoroughly observed his appearence. He was tired. Exhausted. His blonde locks were drooping over his tired brown eyes, his clothes were old and worn out, his beard was starting to come in, and it looked like he hasn't showered in months.

"Nothing, I'm just fucking sitting here," I said back to him.

"Exactly. You need to be writing some of these fucking bills!" he shouted with anger, throwing all of the bills in his hands, on the floor.

"Why the fuck did you do that?!" I hollered back, springing up from my chair.

"You need to be fucking helping me out here! I'm always on my own doing this shit. I can't even go out and have fun anymore because you're sitting on your ass all of the time doing nothing!" he fought.

"Oh shut up, would you? I'm the one always doing shit. All you do is occasionally pay the bills. Who do you think keeps this whole damn loft clean? Who do you think cooks all your meals? Who do you think goes out and buys all the groceries? Who do you think--"

"Stop talking for a damn second," Duff cut me off, picking up the bills from the ground.

"What? What is it you want me to do?" I asked angrily.

"HELP ME WRITE THE DAMN BILLS. WE HAVE A THOUSAND OF THEM WE HAVEN'T WRITTEN AND IF WE DON'T SEND 'EM IN SOON WE'RE GONNA GET A VISIT FROM OUR GOOD FRIEND THE REPO MAN," he yelled at me.

"And you really think hollerin' at me like that is gonna help your case?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing my arms.

"HOW ELSE AM I GONNA COMMUNICATE WITH YOU? YOU DON'T SEEM TO EVER LISTEN TO ME WHEN I AIN'T YELLIN' AT YOU!" he continued to scream like an idiot.

"Your only job in this fucking house is to write the bills. Write the damn bills yourself, Duff. You don't always need me holdin' your damn hand for everything. You just turned twenty-one. You're not seven anymore," I told him seriously.

"STOP TELLIN' ME THAT I DON'T DO SHIT IN THIS HOUSE. I DO WAY MORE THAN YOU, STOP MAKIN' YOURSELF THE VICTIM LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO."

"I'M DONE WITH YOUR FUCKIN' SHOUTING. IF YOU DON'T STOP YELLIN', I'M LEAVIN'!" I yelled back, trying to threaten him.

"OH, REALLY? WHAT IS THIS, THE TENTH TIME YOU'VE THREATENED TO LEAVE ME THIS WEEK? AND WHERE WILL YOU GO, HUH? A HOTEL? WITH WHAT MONEY? YOU AIN'T GONE NONE WITH YOU AND I AIN'T GIVIN' YOU ANY!" he screamed, stepping up closer to me.

"Leave, Duff," I said quietly, my voice cracking, "before something here goes really wrong."

He didn't say anything back to me and inhaled deeply. He then turned around and walked out of my office, slamming the door loudly behind him.

I took a seat back on my rolling chair behind my desk and leaned back in distress, running my fingers through my hair.

Never mind having to work all day, I also am doing home school which is really kicking my ass. Duff never helps me with my school but he tells me if I fail he'll never forgive me because I failed twice before and I won't be able to get a steady job.

So I spend most of my days, when I'm not working on the house, in my office doing my school work.

I picked up the small glass of whiskey I had next to me and chugged it down in one gulp.

I've been drinking and smoking a lot more now since things between Duff and I went majorly downhill. So has he, except he does heavier drugs. So on the rare occasion we do get a visitor, they are tempted to leave because of the horrible reek of the alcohol, cigarette smoke, and weed.

Smoking weed, getting drunk, sometimes even doing heavier stuff, used to be fun when Duff and I did it together, but now it's miserable. We don't have fun high days or fun drunk days anymore. It's just constant misery.

The telophone then rang and I reached over and answered it.

"Hello?" I said into the phone.

"Hey, Tara. How you doin'?" a familiar voice asked me.

"Eh, the same," I replied, twirling the phone chord with my fingers.

"How's Duffy?" the voice asked.

"Eh, the same," I echoed.

The voice slightly chuckled.

"I've been callin' him for a while and he hasn't been returnin' any," the person told me.

"What do ya need to tell him? I can try to deliever him the message."

"That the band is about ready to go on tour and we gotta start rehearsin'. If he doesn't start comin' we might haveta kick him outta the band," the voice said, a hint of anger in their voice.

"And who's the one giving the message?" I asked, a bit embarassed that I still didn't know who was talking to me.

"Tara, it's me, Slash," the voice said, a bit taken aback.

"Sorry, I'm just a bit drunk," I grumbled, leaning my forehead on my hand.

"Are you guys always wasted over there?" he asked.

I didn't respond.

"Well, who am I to speak? I'm wasted all of the time too," he said, breaking the silence.

"I'll give Duff the message," I told him.

Nothing else was said and we both hung up the phone. I slowly got up from my wheely chair and headed to the main room, where I imagined Duff would be.

I made it to the main room and saw Duff sitting on the leather couch, looking as stressed as ever with a cigarette in his mouth.

"Duff," I said, crossing my arms, leaning against the wall.

He didn't acknowledge me and continued writing the bills.

"Duff," I repeated myself, a bit louder.

He ignored me again and knit his eyebrows together in confusion while he resumed writing.

"DUFF!" I shouted as loud as I could.

"DAMMIT, TARA, WHAT?!" he screamed back, throwing his pen across the room.

"Slash, your band member, because remember, you're apart of one, called. He said he's been tryin' to get ahold of you for a while but you've been ignorin' him. He also told me that if you don't start goin' to practice they're gonna have to kick you out of the band," I told him.

"I couldn't give less of a fuck if my bandmates are a little upset because I can't go to practice all the damn time. They ain't gon' kick me out of nothin'," he said back to me.

"Duff, you haven't been going at all. They might really kick you out," I said, starting to worry about him a bit.

"I just fuckin' told you, Tara, they ain't gon' kick me out of jack shit," he said.

"Duff, he told me y'all are goin' on tour soon. You gotta go to rehearsals if you are goin' on tour soon!" I exclaimed.

"TARA, LEAVE ME ALONE FOR A FUCKIN' SECOND. I GOTTA FINISH AT LEAST A FEW HUNDRED MORE BILLS. I'LL WORRY ABOUT MY OWN BAND," he yelled.

I breathed deeply and shook my head, staring at him as he went to pick up the pen he angrily threw.

I then turned around and headed back to my office.