Old Me

60 - Dirty Laundry

"Honey, please, we've got company," Karen said to her husband.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. He was muscular but definitely had a beer belly. He was wearing work clothes that were covered in paint and dirt.

"I'm sorry, and who's this?" He asked jutting his chin in my direction.

"This is Michael's girlfriend, Bea," Karen explained, "sit down and eat with us I didn't know you were coming home so early," she offered pulling out the chair next to her.

"Girlfriend," he scoffed, "yeah right. What'd you do, knock her up?"

"No," Michael said firmly, his fisting forming a ball on the table. I reached out to place my hand onto his lap.

"I'm sorry, I just find it difficult to believe that a convicted felon would get a looker like that to stick around," he chuckled, turning into the kitchen.

The sounds of rummaging through a fridge filled the room and it slammed shut.

I looked at Michael in confusion.

"What is he talking about, Michael?" I asked, waiting for someone to announce it was all a joke. 

But the serious tension in the air was making a pit form in my stomach. I suddenly remembered the time that he had said he had been arrested when we were playing Never Have I Ever. But his dad can't be serious?  A felon? He would have told me if it was something so serious.

"Michael?" I asked, drawing my hand back from his lap.

"We should go," he said, his voice strained as he stood up from the table and reached for my hand.

His dad returned with a beer in his hand and chuckled, throwing his head back.

"You haven't changed a bit have you?" His dad scoffed as he took a swig of his beer.

"Come on, Bea," he repeated, grabbing my hand. 

We pushed past his father and I let him pull me to the door. He handed me my shoes and opened the door ushering me out. I was still in shock but the realization that he had lied to me was sinking in. And he wasn't denying what his father had said. I didn't realize we were at the car until he released my hand.

"Get in the car," he said expectantly as he stared at me from the driver's side.

I didn't move. I couldn't move. I needed answers.

"No," I shook my head, "Tell me he was lying."

My voice was shaking with anger. Anger with myself for trusting someone so deeply and so easily. 

"Bea, come on, can we do this later?" he pleaded with exasperation as he approached me. 

He reached out for me but I stepped backward. 

"Don't touch me," I said cooly.

I watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Tell me the fucking truth, Michael," I said, my voice cracking as I forced myself not to cry.

"I..." he shook his head, running his hands through his hair with frustration, "I'm sorry. I'm not that person anymore. Come on, Bea, please, just get in the car," he begged, grabbing my hands.

"Don't fucking touch me," I said, ripping my hands from his, "I don't even know who you are."

I turned around before he could see me cry and began to walk in the direction I hoped was the street. I pulled out my phone to order a Lyft and ignored him as he called out my name. I heard what sounded like him punching something as he cursed. Thank goodness it was LA and there was already a Lyft in the area. By the time I reached the main road from the apartment complex, the Lyft was already there.