contempt. Why?
Whatever charitable feelings I might have had disintegrated as he unleashed his thoughts on me. His eyes were cold, his face hard, and I couldn’t find it in me to hold back the iciness that I felt in return.
“I feel more concerned about Richard because he’s Graham’s father. The only one he’s got. He and I don’t have the luxury of having parents who don’t die, and we definitely don’t have the ability to read their minds either, so when something is wrong, and they start hurting themselves or other people I care about, forgive me for giving a damn.”
I didn’t bother to stick around to gauge his reaction. I simply got up off my bed and stormed out of the room. I headed downstairs towards the kitchen, hoping that by the time I got there, I’d have cooled off enough to deal with him. Because I knew he was going to be there when I turned on the kitchen light.
That was very childish of you.
I scowled at him as I opened the refrigerator. I needed a distraction, and the leftover pot roast from dinner would fit that bill just fine. No more childish than you leaving me on the bed.
I heard the snort in my ears as well as in my mind and it felt like he’d taken a foam bat to my head and hit it…twice. I did that to protect you.
I slammed the refrigerator door shut at that comment and glared at him, my jaw hurting from jutting out at such an exaggerated angle, but needing it to do so to help emphasize just how angry I was. Protect me from what? You? If I’m not mistaken, the only time I ever seem to be in any danger is when you’re not around, and you’re not around a lot.
I shouldn’t have thought it. The instant I did, I hated myself for it, but it didn’t matter. The hurt and guilt in Robert’s face before he disappeared were enough to knock me to the ground. “Why do you open your mouth?” I groaned out loud, and hung my head, too ashamed to do anything but sit on the cold, tile floor, my knees throbbing, a small cramp growing in my thighs, and the image of Robert just before he left staring at me from every visible object.
“Grace? Why are you on the floor?”
I looked up and saw Graham standing in the backdoor, a concerned look on his face. “Just sitting here, thinking about how my mouth always gets me into trouble,” I muttered, taking his hand as he pulled me up to a standing position.
“Well, you definitely do have to work on what you say to some people—especially the stupid ones. We tend to lash out and hurt you,” he said, smiling half-heartedly as he implicated himself. “So what happened this time?”
I shook my head, unable—no, unwilling really—to discuss Robert with him as I sank back down to the floor. They might have hashed out their differences, but I was still a sore subject with them. Well, with Robert at least.
“Did it have something to do with Robert?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Graham.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and opened the refrigerator door, being careful not to bang my knees in the process, and carefully removed a package of sandwich meats and a jar of mayonnaise. I watched in my awkward position on the floor as he made himself a sandwich, whistling while he did so.
“Here,” he said as he handed me a triangle of bread and meat. “Eat. You look like you need something on your bones other than Robert.”
There was a time when something like that would have resulted in my reaching out a closed fist and punching Graham in the arm…or in this case, his face. But something inside of me failed to connect with that part of my reflex, and instead, I burst into tears—big, fat, embarrassing tears that I had never been able to shed in front of Graham, and yet there they were, leaving pools of saline on the floor and on my thighs.
Graham was squatting in front of me, his features twisted with concern and confusion. “It’s just a sandwich,
Whatever charitable feelings I might have had disintegrated as he unleashed his thoughts on me. His eyes were cold, his face hard, and I couldn’t find it in me to hold back the iciness that I felt in return.
“I feel more concerned about Richard because he’s Graham’s father. The only one he’s got. He and I don’t have the luxury of having parents who don’t die, and we definitely don’t have the ability to read their minds either, so when something is wrong, and they start hurting themselves or other people I care about, forgive me for giving a damn.”
I didn’t bother to stick around to gauge his reaction. I simply got up off my bed and stormed out of the room. I headed downstairs towards the kitchen, hoping that by the time I got there, I’d have cooled off enough to deal with him. Because I knew he was going to be there when I turned on the kitchen light.
That was very childish of you.
I scowled at him as I opened the refrigerator. I needed a distraction, and the leftover pot roast from dinner would fit that bill just fine. No more childish than you leaving me on the bed.
I heard the snort in my ears as well as in my mind and it felt like he’d taken a foam bat to my head and hit it…twice. I did that to protect you.
I slammed the refrigerator door shut at that comment and glared at him, my jaw hurting from jutting out at such an exaggerated angle, but needing it to do so to help emphasize just how angry I was. Protect me from what? You? If I’m not mistaken, the only time I ever seem to be in any danger is when you’re not around, and you’re not around a lot.
I shouldn’t have thought it. The instant I did, I hated myself for it, but it didn’t matter. The hurt and guilt in Robert’s face before he disappeared were enough to knock me to the ground. “Why do you open your mouth?” I groaned out loud, and hung my head, too ashamed to do anything but sit on the cold, tile floor, my knees throbbing, a small cramp growing in my thighs, and the image of Robert just before he left staring at me from every visible object.
“Grace? Why are you on the floor?”
I looked up and saw Graham standing in the backdoor, a concerned look on his face. “Just sitting here, thinking about how my mouth always gets me into trouble,” I muttered, taking his hand as he pulled me up to a standing position.
“Well, you definitely do have to work on what you say to some people—especially the stupid ones. We tend to lash out and hurt you,” he said, smiling half-heartedly as he implicated himself. “So what happened this time?”
I shook my head, unable—no, unwilling really—to discuss Robert with him as I sank back down to the floor. They might have hashed out their differences, but I was still a sore subject with them. Well, with Robert at least.
“Did it have something to do with Robert?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Graham.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and opened the refrigerator door, being careful not to bang my knees in the process, and carefully removed a package of sandwich meats and a jar of mayonnaise. I watched in my awkward position on the floor as he made himself a sandwich, whistling while he did so.
“Here,” he said as he handed me a triangle of bread and meat. “Eat. You look like you need something on your bones other than Robert.”
There was a time when something like that would have resulted in my reaching out a closed fist and punching Graham in the arm…or in this case, his face. But something inside of me failed to connect with that part of my reflex, and instead, I burst into tears—big, fat, embarrassing tears that I had never been able to shed in front of Graham, and yet there they were, leaving pools of saline on the floor and on my thighs.
Graham was squatting in front of me, his features twisted with concern and confusion. “It’s just a sandwich,
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