Page 3 of Make Me Trust Again
He never looked long enough to see me.
Besides, it’s not like I chose this life for myself. I wanted to go to college, Ididgo to college, but things changed, priorities changed, and I do not,willnot, regret giving it all up for the sake of my son. He is the light of my life.
“Just because I didn’t finish college doesn’t mean I don’t have wishes and dreams, John,” I whisper, but he’s not even listening to me.
John is looking straight ahead, drinking from that damn bottle, completely lost in his own thoughts.
It was like I was invisible. Always falling second to the big game. To his dreams and wants and wishes. Never good enough.
“I have nothing left.” He shakes his head and takes another long gulp.
He— What?
“Nothing left? You have everything, John.Everything!You have a steady job, you’re healthy, you have a home, and you have afamily. You have a beautiful son who loves you. You have me.”
Just turn around and look at me, dammit.
“A beautiful son?” He laughs, his knuckles turning white as they grip the bottle. “My son is a freaking retard that can’t speak.”
“Don’t call him that,” I hiss, walking around him, so I’m facing him. If he won’t look at me, I’ll force him to. I jab my finger into his chest. Angry tears fill my eyelids. I blink furiously, refusing to let them fall. “You’re so narrow-minded that you can’t see how amazing he is. He’s smart, funny, kind, and talented, and still, it’s not enough for you, because all you ever think about is your precious football. We’re right here, but it’s like we’re invisible to you!”
John’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and he twists my hand back, his grip so strong I know it’ll leave a bruise.
Pure rage burns in his eyes as he leans down, closing the distance between us. He’s so close, I can smell the alcohol on his breath as it tickles my skin.
“Some days I wonder if he’s even mine. He can’t hear, he can’t speak, he sure as hell can’t play football. He’s a freaking waste of space.” He twists my hand harder, pulling me closer to him, our chests brushing. “You had one job, Rose. One job, and you couldn’t even do that right. It would have been better if we had gotten rid of him when we had the chance. Then I wouldn’t be stuck with the two of you.”
I stare at him, the man I loved, the man I married.
My throat bobs as I swallow. “Is that really what you think?”
“What do you think?”
As quickly as he grabbed me, he pushed me back. I stumble and fall to the floor, stunned by his actions and words, by the hatred shining in his eyes as he glares at me. His hand lifts in mid-air, something wild playing on his face as he watches me. His other hand is holding onto the bottle, knuckles white from gripping it tightly.
His hand moves, and I lift my arms to cover my head, the reaction completely instinctual.
Time ticks down slowly, my heart beating wildly inside my chest, the sound echoing inside my eardrums, the only thing I can hear until there is a loudbang.
I peek between my fingers, only to find the room empty.
The car engine comes to life and is soon followed by screeching tires.
My hands are shaking as I let them fall, my wrists aching from John’s grip. Dark pink fingertips etched into my skin, a sure sign that come morning, there will be bruises.
I take in the room.
The mess.
The broken glass.
The cut wedding photo.
Pieces of my shattered marriage.
Words that can never be taken back.
How can we move on from this?
