The Silent Treatment
1055 Words
May's expression shifted from anger to defensiveness in a heartbeat. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter, her face drawn and pale under the harsh kitchen lights. “You don’t understand, Chris. I need it. You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped in your own life!”
“Trapped?” Chris repeated, incredulous. “Trapped by what, May? A house, a life you’ve built, a husband who’s tried to help you at every turn? You’re the one spending our money like it’s water, lying to me, sneaking around behind my back!”
May's eyes narrowed, deflecting his accusations with a bitterness that seeped into every word. “Oh, really? And what about you? What about the way you sneak around on your ‘work trips’? How many women, Chris? How many women have you been with while I’m trying to keep it together?”
The accusation meant nothing to him. Chris' face twisted with a mixture of anger and irritation, but he didn’t look away. “You’re deflecting, May. You are the reason I seek solace outside. You, your big spending, it's overwhelming!"
“Oh, please,” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “As if you haven’t given me every reason to doubt you from the very beginning! I see the way women look at you. I’ve heard rumors, Chris. And now you’re going to stand there and pin it all on me?”
“I’m not the one who’s blown our savings on drugs!” he shouted, his voice finally cracking through the cold restraint he’d kept so far. “I’ve tried to get you help, May. You’re the one who refuses to listen, who ignores every chance to fix things. And now? I’m done covering for you.”
Her eyes blazed with panic as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over the screen. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice wavering.
“What I should have done a long time ago,” Chris replied, his tone cold and final. “I’m reporting this to the police. I can’t keep watching you destroy my finances. You need help, May, and if this is the only way to get it, then so be it.”
“Don’t you dare!” May screamed as she lunged forward, reaching for his phone, but he stepped back, his face set with steely resolve.
“Chris, don’t! You know what this would do to me. To the family. Saint will never forgive you if you do anything to taint our family reputation.”
For a long, tense moment, they stared at each other, her frantic eyes locked on his unyielding gaze. Slowly, he shook his head.
“May, I'm done talking about this,” he said, his voice quieter but laced with exhaustion. “You either see a psychiatrist before it’s too late or we're done,”
With that, he turned and headed toward the front door, his footsteps heavy, each one echoing with a finality that cut through the air like a blade.
May’s anger and fear had already twisted into defiance, her voice rising again in a frenzy. “You can’t pin this all on me, Chris! No! You can't. No!" She kept repeating till he slammed the door shut with a resounding thud that seemed to shake the house to its core.
Left alone in the silence, May hurried into the dimly lit room upstairs, shutting the door behind her with a sense of urgency. She felt tense and needed a way to unwind. Digging into her clutch bag, she retrieved a small case of powder. Pouring a bit onto the table, she quickly took a snort. Almost immediately, a wave of light-headedness washed over her, and she relaxed onto the couch, breathing slowly. The worries that had weighed on her melted away as she floated on a cloud of numbness.
As a teenager, May was gullible, easily influenced by peer pressure and the lure of escape, which led her down a dark path of substance abuse. What began with innocent experimentation, smoking with friends, quickly spiraled into a full-blown drug addiction that consumed her teenage years.
---------------
Hayley looked up from the couch when the front door opened. Dexter walked in, his presence always arriving a few seconds before he did - commanding, arrogant, untouchable.
“Long day?” she asked lightly, her tone detached.
Dexter didn’t answer. He tossed his keys onto the marble counter and stood at the window, staring out at the city like a king plotting war.
She waited for a response. Nothing.
“I’ll inform Emily about dinner,” she said.
“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.”
She nodded slowly, more hurt than she let on. It wasn’t just that he skipped meals, it was that he skipped her.
“Suit yourself,” she muttered, eyes dropping to her phone.
Dexter’s jaw tightened at the sound of her tapping fingers.
“Do you ever put that damn thing down?” he snapped.
Hayley's eyes snapped to his, her irritation now fully formed. "Excuse me?"
"You’re always glued to it," Dexter said disgustingly. "Don't you have something better to do?"
Hayley scoffed. "I'm working right now." She shot back. "Don't you have something better to do than trying to get my attention?"
"Your attention?" Dexter’s jaw tightened. "You don't exist to me,"
"Then find a way to shut that voice in your head that screams out for attention!" Hayley yelled.
Emily, who at that moment was bringing up a tray of tea, stopped in her tracks, stunned. She mumbled her apology, but neither of them paid her any attention as they stared at each other, the air between them thick with resentment. Emily placed the tray on the table and hurried out.
Dexter's phone ringing shattered the moment. He walked out as he answered in a sharp tone. The person at the other end knew he had called at the wrong time.
------------
The next morning at breakfast, Dexter scrolled through his phone. Hayley barely touched her food, her appetite consumed by silent dread.
“I’m going to Houston this weekend,” she said abruptly. “To see my kids.”
Dexter didn’t even look up. “Malcom will bring them here.”
"Who is Malcom?"
- Writer
