scoffs.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
I exhale. “No.” I bite a dry piece of skin off my lip and spit it out between two fingers. I wipe my hand on the sheet by my thigh. “And sometimes I’m afraid to say things because I’m scared that you’ll yell. And your yelling is irrational and … terrifying.”
Alex stares—blank-faced. I scratch a non-existent itch under my arm. “You yell before you even know what you’re yelling about. And you know I hate it when you get aggressive. You remind me of my—”
“Mother.” Alex rubs his eyes. He sighs and looks at the wall.
“Yeah. And I really hate it. I need you to stop ,” I say, nodding assertion and weight into each word. Alex’s eyes flick erratically over the wall as if searching for cracks in the paint.
“Alex! I really need you to stop. Please look at me!”
Alex meets my gaze and nods clenching his jaw. I lower my tone. My hands shake. Fear re-emerges like aggressive bacteria. “Otherwise I can’t feel confident about telling you things I think you might get upset about, or trust you won’t jump to conclusions before you’ve heard everything I have to say. And I don’t want to be afraid to tell you—”
Alex narrows his eyes.
“… that I really want—”
“Me to get you a gig.” Alex pushes the duvet down to his knees and laughs as if he’s been expecting this request all along. So why didn’t you just offer instead of make me suffer through this unspoken torment?
“This is ludicrous,” Alex continues, getting out of bed and towering above me.
“What is?” My shoulders recline. My voice turns to kitten squeak. “That I want you to get me a gig?”
“No!” Alex tosses his arms in the air, his fingers outstretched; the lines inside his hands redden. “That you think I’m like your mother!”
“But you are ,” I say, wishing I could control myself. But I can’t. Unspoken ache drives the volume of my voice to a level I’ve never heard before. It’s not very loud, but the pain in it is—like a mute trying to express grief. “I mean, it’s how I feel. ” I clench my fists and bang them on my chest, knocking the last breath of confidence out of me. My palms burn as I press my fingers into them. This is what I have needed to say—all along. How could I not have realized this? “Can’t you see that that’s how you make me feel ? I’m afraid to speak about everything to you in case you blow up. And I know you’ve thought about hitting me. I know it. It’s just a matter of time, Alex. I can see it in your eyes every time you—”
“Mel!” Alex bangs his fist on the wall. “I have never hit you. How can you—”
“Stop! See what I mean? Look at you! Look at that fist, that anger. You could snap me in half with one swipe. And for what? What have I done to you?”
Alex loosens his fist and sighs as he crouches down. He looks at his feet through his parted knees and balances himself on the edge of the bed, rocking himself backward and forward.
“Stop being so defensive for just a second and try to look at this from my perspective, huh? Look deep into your own heart and tell me, do you seriously have no idea what I’m talking about here? If you can honestly say you don’t then … I guess, so be it. You can’t see it.” I shrug. “But can you at least try to understand my problem here?”
His eyes become watery, and his intimidating demeanor ebbs as if he’s been injected with a tranquilizer.
“I love you. You know that right?” he whispers looking up at me like a lost child.
“Yes. I do.” I do. He loves me. Otherwise what would be keeping him here? Right?
“Okay. Do you love me ?”
“Yes.” I think so.
“Okay. I’ll, um, watch my temper. And if I lose sight of it, if … if I forget, just, I dunno, yell at me or something. I promise I won’t hit you. How could I ever hit you? You’re my … Melody, you’re my music. I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in my business that I
“You’re kidding me, right?”
I exhale. “No.” I bite a dry piece of skin off my lip and spit it out between two fingers. I wipe my hand on the sheet by my thigh. “And sometimes I’m afraid to say things because I’m scared that you’ll yell. And your yelling is irrational and … terrifying.”
Alex stares—blank-faced. I scratch a non-existent itch under my arm. “You yell before you even know what you’re yelling about. And you know I hate it when you get aggressive. You remind me of my—”
“Mother.” Alex rubs his eyes. He sighs and looks at the wall.
“Yeah. And I really hate it. I need you to stop ,” I say, nodding assertion and weight into each word. Alex’s eyes flick erratically over the wall as if searching for cracks in the paint.
“Alex! I really need you to stop. Please look at me!”
Alex meets my gaze and nods clenching his jaw. I lower my tone. My hands shake. Fear re-emerges like aggressive bacteria. “Otherwise I can’t feel confident about telling you things I think you might get upset about, or trust you won’t jump to conclusions before you’ve heard everything I have to say. And I don’t want to be afraid to tell you—”
Alex narrows his eyes.
“… that I really want—”
“Me to get you a gig.” Alex pushes the duvet down to his knees and laughs as if he’s been expecting this request all along. So why didn’t you just offer instead of make me suffer through this unspoken torment?
“This is ludicrous,” Alex continues, getting out of bed and towering above me.
“What is?” My shoulders recline. My voice turns to kitten squeak. “That I want you to get me a gig?”
“No!” Alex tosses his arms in the air, his fingers outstretched; the lines inside his hands redden. “That you think I’m like your mother!”
“But you are ,” I say, wishing I could control myself. But I can’t. Unspoken ache drives the volume of my voice to a level I’ve never heard before. It’s not very loud, but the pain in it is—like a mute trying to express grief. “I mean, it’s how I feel. ” I clench my fists and bang them on my chest, knocking the last breath of confidence out of me. My palms burn as I press my fingers into them. This is what I have needed to say—all along. How could I not have realized this? “Can’t you see that that’s how you make me feel ? I’m afraid to speak about everything to you in case you blow up. And I know you’ve thought about hitting me. I know it. It’s just a matter of time, Alex. I can see it in your eyes every time you—”
“Mel!” Alex bangs his fist on the wall. “I have never hit you. How can you—”
“Stop! See what I mean? Look at you! Look at that fist, that anger. You could snap me in half with one swipe. And for what? What have I done to you?”
Alex loosens his fist and sighs as he crouches down. He looks at his feet through his parted knees and balances himself on the edge of the bed, rocking himself backward and forward.
“Stop being so defensive for just a second and try to look at this from my perspective, huh? Look deep into your own heart and tell me, do you seriously have no idea what I’m talking about here? If you can honestly say you don’t then … I guess, so be it. You can’t see it.” I shrug. “But can you at least try to understand my problem here?”
His eyes become watery, and his intimidating demeanor ebbs as if he’s been injected with a tranquilizer.
“I love you. You know that right?” he whispers looking up at me like a lost child.
“Yes. I do.” I do. He loves me. Otherwise what would be keeping him here? Right?
“Okay. Do you love me ?”
“Yes.” I think so.
“Okay. I’ll, um, watch my temper. And if I lose sight of it, if … if I forget, just, I dunno, yell at me or something. I promise I won’t hit you. How could I ever hit you? You’re my … Melody, you’re my music. I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in my business that I
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