I don't know if he's noticed, but I'm not speaking to Jim. It's
childish maybe -- oh, who am I kidding, of course it is. Immature, not
all that useful, and the way he complains about me never shutting up,
it might even be making him happy.
Assuming he's even noticed.
I'm quiet, he's watching TV, and the seconds are ticking by, taking us
further away from the argument that began this self-imposed vow of
silence and closer to the time we make up. Because we will; we always
do. I just don't know at what point I am on my journey of forgiveness.
Not very far, because when I open my mouth, not to speak, just to see
what happens, I can feel the words boiling up, a disturbed wasps' nest
of stinging, sharp, "-- agonizingly painful, Jim, that's what it was,
and how the hell you can act like it was nothing, when you know damn
well --"
***
Blair's making so much noise my head is aching. He's sitting beside me,
because neither of us would move when we'd finished yelling, and he's
still screaming at me with every quick, sharp breath, every huffed
exhale, every careful adjustment of his position so that our bodies
never quite touch.
He's blinking; fast, angry sharp flutters of his lashes, and I'm
wincing, anticipating the next one, the next assault on my hearing, the
next blow against my skin from the fanned, disturbed air.
He smells wrong. Scorched rubber, burned food -- hot smells, red and
violent. I can't look at him, because if I see disgust and
disappointment in his eyes, my eyes would close and I wouldn't want to
open them again.
This hurts. God, this hurts so fucking much. I can't breathe because it
takes the acrid, acid taste of his anger deep into my body and eats me
alive, I can't hear anything but the beat, beat, beat --
***
"--know damn well that --Jim? Jim! Oh, God, Jim --"
***
Blair's hands are cradling my face like I'm thousands of years old and
made of whatever they made things of back then. His eyes are wide,
worried, stricken, and his mouth is moving, words tumbling out,
spilling over me like rain. He's saying my name and 'sorry' and telling
me I'm an idiot and telling me he loves me so often he's covered for
the next ten birthdays with a few Valentine's Days thrown in for good
measure.
I sigh, smile, and let him kiss me, and then he goes back to talking
and I take slow, slow breaths and listen to the peace slip back into
the room.