Check, Please?

Chapter 8

“NOOOOOOOOO ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!” I heard Harry shout from the living room.  I listened as he punched the couch cushions over and over again. “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT!?”

I had hidden the lamps, vases, glass bottles, and anything else breakable exactly for this reason.  It was Sunday.  I hid the glass things every Sunday.  Some weeks it was unnecessary, but others it was essential.

“OH COME ON!” Harry yelled, and I looked out of my room just in time to see a couch cushion fly across the living room.

I rolled my eyes. “Harry, was that really necessary?” I called, but I got no response.

“HE JUST-“ Harry groaned loudly. “I WANT TO KICK HIS ASS RIGHT NOW.”

I sighed as I looked around at my room, finally almost clean for the first time in weeks.  Months.  Probably years.  I had spent all day sweeping under my bed and dresser, digging out clothes from the very depths of my closet, and scrubbing random stains off of my furniture.  I was disgusted with myself for becoming this dirty.

I hoisted up a laundry basket onto my hip and carried the clothes down the hallway to the laundry room across from the bathroom.  I groaned when I noticed that the bathroom was disgusting too.  Mine and Harry’s clothes littered the floor and I had makeup and nail polish bottles all over the place.  If everything is dirty, you don’t notice.  Now that my room was squeaky clean, I felt compelled to clean the rest of the nasty apartment.

After starting a load of laundry, I walked into the kitchen just in time to hear a mix of swears coming from Harry’s mouth.  He threw his plastic bottle against the wall as hard as he could, but the plastic just bounced off of the wall and onto the floor where it rolled a few inches and then stopped.  Harry stood still and looked down at the bottle for a moment, breathing heavily.  He finally looked up at me and put his hands on his hips.

“You know, I get no satisfaction out of throwing a plastic coke bottle against the wall.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Well any time you threw a glass bottle, we were stepping on tiny little shards of sharp, painful glass for weeks after that.”

Harry glared in my direction but didn’t try to fight me on my reasoning.  I grabbed some yellow, rubber gloves from underneath the counter and stretched them onto my hands.  “You shouldn’t get so damn angry anyways…” I said, leaving the room. “It’s just football.”

I walked into the bathroom and reached under the sink for some sort of cleaner. I was disappointed when I didn’t find any, and I screeched when I stood up and turned straight into Harry. 

I stumbled backward and frowned at him. “What is your deal?”

He shook his head at me. “It isn’t just football! It’s the PACKERS.”

I sighed. “Harry, I don’t think you could even find Green Bay on a map. You aren’t from there.  You aren’t even from America.”

Harry chuckled for a second but then became serious again. “I can like whatever team I want.”

I widened my eyes and pushed past him to the laundry room. “But that’s the problem. You don’t just “like” them.  You have like, an abusive relationship with the team.”

Harry pouted. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do.  You couldn’t end the relationship even if you tried.”

Harry scowled. “I could.”

I searched the shelves above the washer and dryer for a bathroom cleaner but found none. “Well you can try to end the relationship now then by going with me to the grocery store.”