CHAPTER 5A: FIGHTING
996 Words
The apartment was quiet.
Not peaceful quiet.
Loaded quiet.
The kind that comes after a fight where both people said too much and not enough.
We’d just finished arguing.
It started stupid.
Me not texting back for two hours. I was napping.Him assuming I was ignoring him on purpose.
Then it escalated.
Like it always does when Alex comes home angry.
Words like knives.
“You always do this.”
“You never trust me.”
“You’re just like—”
I stopped myself.
We always stop one word short of breaking each other.
I turned away.
Pulled the blanket up to my chin like it could shield me.
Alex got up.
Bed creaked.
Floorboards complained under his weight.
He stood there for three seconds.
I counted.
Then he left the room.
Door didn’t slam.
Alex never slams doors.
He closes them hard enough that the frame rattles.
Like he’s punishing the wall instead of me.
Good for him. I screamed it in my head.
Let him cool off.
Let him walk it off.
He always leaves after arguments.
“To calm my demons,” he says.
His anxiety. His need to punch air instead of walls.
I don’t ask anymore.
The apartment went silent.
Just the hum of the fridge.
Air felt thick. Stale.Like the whole city was holding its breath.
A few minutes later I’m still tossing in bed.
Sheets twisted around my legs.
Pillow too hot.
Brain looping everything I said.
Everything I should’ve said.
Then the anger drained out.
Fast.
Like water through a cracked cup.
God. I miss my man.Regardless of how many times we fight.
Regardless of how loud he screams.
My love never falters.
If anything, fighting makes it louder.
I love him regardless of himself.
I smiled at that.
Small. Stupid. Sad.
My reflection in the dark window looked tired.
Messy bun. No makeup. Eyes red at the corners.
Then it hit me.
I was supposed to be in Brooklyn today to visit my parents.
Family dinner at 6PM.
The “talk about everything and nothing” dinner.
Dad gets pissed if you’re late.
I grabbed my phone.
4:36PM.
“f**k!”
Word came out loud in the empty room.
Stomach dropped.
Friday evening? Two hours fifteen minutes drive minimum.
I needed to leave NOW.
No hesitation. I dialed Alex.
He picked up on the first ring.
No “hello.”
Background noise hit me first. Soft indie music. Bottles chattering.
He was at a bar.
“Where are you,” I said.
Still annoyed he didn’t say hello.
Voice came out sharper than I meant.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” he snapped.
I could hear his teeth grinding.
“Do you understand—”
“Alex, I don’t have time for this,” I cut in.
“Where are you?”
“Down the street. Why?”
Too nonchalant.
Convenience store door dinged in background. Speedway on Washtenaw. Two blocks away.
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
Hand gripped the phone too tight.
“I’m supposed to be home by six.I told you yesterday.You promised to drive me.”
Silence.
Then a muttered “Fuck.”
Footsteps. Fast.
Like he was already running.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
Breath uneven.
“You want anything?”
I smiled despite myself.
This is why I love our love.
No matter how angry we are, he still asks if I need gum or water.
“Just come back,” I said.
Voice cracked on the last word.
“I don’t wanna be late.”
“I love you,” he said.
Quiet. Not teasing. Not angry.
Just fact.
“I love you,” I whispered back.
We both knew saying it didn’t mean we’d reconciled.
It’s routine.
Our love is bigger than our anger.
I hung up and flew out of bed.
I threw clothes into a duffel.
Jeans. Two sweaters. Toiletries.
Keys in the lock a few minutes later.
Alex strode in.
Anger still hanging over his head like a storm cloud.
Hair messy from running his hands through it.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“Are you done packing?” he asked.
Sat on the bed. Mattress dipped.
Stared at the wall like it offended him personally.
I stayed silent.
Zipping my bag.
Shoving my charger in.
“Babe?!” He snapped. Louder.
“I still have clothes at my parents’ house,” I said flat.
“You know you’re so annoying and stubborn, right?” He sighed.
Whole body deflated.
“You could’ve reminded me about your parents earlier?”
“You could’ve not stormed out after we fought?” I snapped back.
And just like that, another argument started.
Right there.
Bag half-zipped. Keys in his hand.
“I went for a walk to cool off,” he said, standing.
“Not to abandon you.”
“You always say that. ‘I need space.’ ‘I need air.’ But you know I hate when you leave mad.”
“And you know I hate when you shut down and turn your back,” he shot back.
“It’s like I’m talking to a wall.”
I accused him of drinking just because…
He said he only had two bottles to “calm his demons” and one cigarette.
Smell hit me then.
Beer. Something sharper.
Not drunk.
Just... coping.
“So you did drink,” I said. Hurt in my voice.
“You said you wouldn’t. Not when you’re mad.”
“Two bottles, Maya. Two.I’m not an alcoholic.I’m just trying not to punch a hole in the wall.”
“You could’ve come back and talked to me instead.”
“You weren’t talking.
You were facing the wall!”
Alex grabbed my bag. I yanked it back. Zipper broke.
“You’re not driving me mad and drunk,” I said.
His jaw ticked. “Then I guess I’m not driving you at all.”
- Writer
