Untitled Story

Chapter Nine

Monday's really never get easier. I trudge my way through the front door of my apartment, carrying too many bags to make anything about me right now appear elegant. Once I finally fit through the doorway, I drop the two bags of groceries, portfolio, and handbag I'd been battling with for the last ten minutes, onto the kitchen counter. Inhaling deeply, I try to exhale the stress of the day and allow myself to enter relaxation mode. Before I can curl up on the sofa and enjoy some wine, I busy myself with unpacking the groceries, sorting through some of the work things I didn't have time to finish before I left, and getting out of my work façade; the outfit, make up and composure.

After a while, I am organised enough for tomorrow, in comfortable clothing, and sipping a glass of red wine, while monitoring the pasta and sauce on the stove. Rustling near the front door catches my attention. Keys jingling together can be heard on the other side, followed by the door handle rattling. Fear washes over my body and I feel myself growing increasing anxious. When the door begins slowly opening, my eyes pull towards the knife block, and I begin calculating how quickly I can get to it. It's only after Tony's face emerges from behind the door that I allow myself to calm down.

"Tony? Why are you home?" I ask, setting my glass down on the counter and making my way over to help him with his bags.

"Can't a man surprise his wife?" A sly grin appears on his face.

"I guess so. It's just that you said your trip was extended until Wednesday. If I'd known, I would have made dinner for you too." I pull the small suitcase into the living room and return to my cooking food.

After putting down his briefcase, Tony comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. His lips press against my neck, and I know exactly what that means, even if it's been a long time since it's happened.

"Not now, Tony. I'm in the middle of cooking dinner." I continue stirring the sauce. Tony continues kissing my neck. His fingers run circles over my stomach. "Tony." I speak sternly, to which he huffs and releases his grip on me.

I feel the air in the room shift to something less than comfortable and begin to feel on edge. "You never want me to touch you anymore!" His voice is raised slightly, catching me off guard.

I turn my attention away from the food and towards him, eyebrow raised. "Really? You don't think it has anything to do with the fact that you're hardly ever here?" My arms cross against my chest.

"Oh, don't start this again." His eye roll, only frustrating me more.

"I didn't start anything." I check on the food, making sure nothing is burning or overcooking.

"Yes, you did!" The volume of his words startles me. I know Tony has a bit of a temper when he's drunk, but I've never seen him like this when sober before. It's possible he was drinking on the flight, but I don't think so since he doesn't seem, or sound intoxicated. "You always have to pick a fight, don't you?"

I know that participating in this debate right now would be futile, so I try to keep my tone neutral. "I'm not picking a fight; I'm trying to cook dinner."

"Don't condescend me!" He demands.

"I'm not condescending you, Tony. Do you want to go shower and unpack, maybe we can talk about this when you're a bit calmer?" I continue stirring the sauce, until a rough hand grips my wrist. The abruptness and strength shocks me; I drop the spoon, causing some sauce to splash out the pan.

"Don't disrespect me." His voice is threateningly quiet. His grip increases: I wince at the pain shooting up my arm.

"Tony, let go of me!" I call out.

"It's time you start treating me with respect." He pulls me towards his body as I squirm in attempt to escape his clutch.

He smashes his lips against mine harshly. I hit against his chest hard enough that he pulls apart from me, although not releasing my wrist.