They were sitting in the kitchen. He was ranting and cursing, while she paid hardly any attention besides a little still nod. She took a deep, rattling breath,
“You don’t have to make everything about you, you know,” she barely whispered this. His eyes widened and she could see the fury spreading over him like a pool of black ink.
“What did you just say?” he growled and clutched his hands, twitching, as his face grew red. She was almost sure that within a minute or so, all she would hear was the shatter of glass.
“I... nothing, nothing,” another whisper. Tears began to form in her eyes.
“No, no. I heard something.”
“I didn’t mean it!” she cried, her eyes forming big tears as she clenched them tight. He hated it when she cried. “I’m just sick and tired of hearing you talk about your miserable life! Do you know how I feel?”
“Do I know how you feel? What kinda sick question is that? Do you know how hard I work? And for what, to see you cry that you ain’t as pretty as them other girls?” His fingers trickled over the knives.
He saw the hurt spread over her face and he knew he had gotten her. He knew she had that weak spot. The tears came faster off her face and her whole body trembled and shook.
She had seen his hands go over those knives and her insides froze. She felt the last cut burn violently on her skin.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’m sorry.”
He grunted, “Yeah, making up all this stupid stuff. You better watch yourself.” She walked back into the kitchen where she pretended to chop carrots, as he came up beside her.
He grabbed her by the arm and whispered; “Fix me up something, huh? And let’s not hear about any of this stuff, no more.”
“Yeah, ok” she squeaked. She felt trapped and wanted to speak up, feeling the words bubble in her throat, burning to come up, but she had lost her voice, so they came out transparent and soundlessly, swirling up into a intangible mist that would never be heard.
She quietly fumbled around the kitchen so as not to disturb him. She was carefully chopping the carrots when he spoke up again:
“Why’d this come up, anyways?”
She took a deep, stumbling breath, “I... I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m sorry.”
“That’s a lie,” he smiled cruelly, “why you be getting mad, honey?”
She thought her options out carefully, “I spoke from instinct. I was frustrated because... because my soup didn’t turn out...”
“I see, well I’m sorry, baby, but I love you,” his face turned sweet for a second as he got up, kissed her on the cheek, and walked away. For a minute, she seemed to remember why she loved him.
“I love you too,” she sobbed quietly, but all she could think about was the freedom she was letting slip pass, like a thousand white doves flying away over a sea of the darkest blue.