Blindfolded by Love

Chapter 4

I was curled up on the couch with a heating pad tucked under my sweater and placed on the lower part of my stomach and a fuzzy blanket wrapped around me like emotional armor. I was in serious pain. My stomach twisted and turned like an earthworm that had salt poured on it.

The Romcom I didn't even bother watching attentively played on low volume, mainly serving as background noise to drown out the excruciating cramps and my new ending thoughts.

I absolutely hated taking painkillers, and so I had to subject myself to the physical and emotional torture of not granting my ovaries their wish of having a baby.

I lay in a comfortable position, trying to sleep off. That's when the door slammed. Hard and unnecessarily loud.

First the loud heavy footsteps came.

Then the rough, deep voices.

Laughter.

Maxwell, in all his glory, strolled in with three hockey goons in tow, all noise and swagger and carrying bags of snacks like they robbed the convenience store. They bounced in like they owned the entire world, or at least the living room.

“Yo, Regina,” Maxwell said with that unmistakable sneer that was always planted on his face. "Move it, we want to watch the match and you aren't invited so," he tossed my blanket to the ground, leaving me shivering at the sudden onslaught of the biting cold. "Beat it."

I didn’t even look at him . Just reached for the blanket on the ground, placed it over my body and curled tighter under my blanket burrito and reached for my ginger tea with my free hand.

He stepped closer and spoke louder. “Hello? This isn’t your personal spa. Are you deaf or just dumb?”

I said absolutely nothing.

That was apparently the final straw for him.

“Jesus, no wonder your mom had managed to sleep her way in, must run in the family.”

I sat up slowly at that, my eyes growing sharp despite my obvious and clear exhaustion. “You know,” I said, my voice low but firm, “for someone who hates the ‘mistress’ and her daughter so much, you sure talk to them a lot. You keep living with them. Eating their food. Yelling in their living room.”

Maxwell’s smirk dropped from his face “This is my house. In case you forgot. It's you and your mother that chased my mom away, if not I would have been here with her."

“Oh, really?” I tilted my head at his hypocritical words. “Then why don’t you leave? Go live with your real mom. The one you’re so desperate to defend every chance you get. Since you miss her so much and loathe me and my mom just go."

One of the hockey boys coughed. They all looked uncomfortable but I was not going to give Maxwell any face. He started this fight and I was going to end it.

I leaned forward, ignoring the sharp shot of pain and locked eyes with Maxwell. “I’ve been here for three weeks. Three good weeks. Not once has she called you. Visited you. Nothing. But my mom and I are the problem?”

Maxwell’s jaw tensed. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”

“Right back at you,” I snapped. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or my mother. You’ve been tossing tantrums like a stupid child ever since I got here, but I have been letting it slide, not anymore. I will not ignore your taunts or insults especially towards my mother. I keep the peace for your dad's sake and for our family's sake."

"You and your mother are not a part of my family." He hissed out.

"Well neither are you." I shot right back." My family consists of your dad, my mom and I. You are definitely not included and if you feel that I have taken your father from you well, now all your suspicions and theories have been proven right."

I stood up now, face to face with him. My blood was still boiling and I was so ready to fire at him today. He made a big mistake messing with me at the wrong time of the month.

“And by the way, your so-called hockey skills? Absolutely trash. Every single one of you. You skate like your laces are tied together and pass like you’re allergic to teamwork. None of you even bother to listen to anyone, even each other. You continuously have weak defenses and for the love of God learn how to use the hockey stick properly. Watching you guys play honestly is absolute torture. Even eight year olds play better than this."

“Excuse me?” one of the boys barked, growing offended.

I turned my fire to him as well. “Let me guess, you are the third-line winger who flinches at every puck being passed at him. You overskate every shot. You don’t track the zone, and for some reason only know to you, leaving the crease wide open seems to be your best hobby along with ensuring everyone but your own team wins"

Another one tried to jump in. “You don’t even play..”

“Doesn’t mean I am blind like you all. You guys ignore my mom like she’s invisible, saying that she is not good enough but let’s not pretend like you’ve been anywhere near the championship finals in, what, ten years?”

The silence hit like a slap.

I crossed her arms. “You want change to happen ? Then change your misogynistic mindset, because this team’s gonna crash and burn over again and again unless you get your heads out of your overpriced helmets and actually listen. My mom is one of the best and you all are treating her like trash. I hope you continue to lose cause you all deserve the title of losers."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, blanket still draped around me like a war cloak.

Behind me, no one laughed. Not even Maxwell.