Friday July 22 2011 (PART 2: AFTERMATH)

Sleepy time??…….3 a.m?????? Not happening. After a few minutes of lying down…I attempt to touch her.

She mumbles, Get off me.

I think she drank a little too much because I know the difference between coherent half-awake Margot and incoherent half-asleep Margot. Whatever, I say to myself and situate my exhausted body. She’s fumbling around huffing and puffing because it’s hot in here. Our A/C is malfunctioning. I’ve got the fan blowing but it’s not enough.

Her: “Oh my god! It’s fucking hot in here. I can’t sleep. I gotta go!”

She gets up in haste, puts on her dress and prepares to leave. I’m just so tired and ready to sleep. I don’t care. Of course, she just stands there above my worn out body waiting for some kind of response.

Me: “Baby, I’m sorry it’s hot. I just want to sleep.”

Something goes terribly wrong as the clock ticks by. All the insecurities and rejections, mainly from last night’s episode, pile up in her head. It’s no longer about the unbearable heat in the bedroom but now it’s about the unbearable heat between us. She’s flippant and verbally abusive. I mean, how else does she expect me to respond back? I can only be stoic for so long before the rage and fury conspires to come out. I demand she just leave…

Me: “Margot! If you’re going to keep talking to me just leave. Or else get back in bed and let’s sleep!”

Violence…hitting me with her keys, and then kicking me with her gold high heels.

Me: “What the fuck! GET OUT! NOW!”

Of course, she’s not going anywhere. There’s a struggle as I drag her out of my room and attempt to get her downstairs. She stumbles down the steps stopping halfway. And then she bursts into tears. I reiterate to her the choices: “Leave or sleep! Get out of my house or come to bed. I’m fucking tired.”

There’s another struggle. Shoes are flown across the room, then out the door—the big heavy mirror in the hallway dropped to the floor. She stands there in the doorway refusing to step outside—her shoes on the sidewalk.

Her: “Get my shoes!”

Me: “What?”

Her: “Bring me my shoes!”

Me: “Why? What are you doing?”

Her: “I’m staying here.”

Me: “Okay. Finally.”

We finally settle back down in bed together—back to our almost naked selves. But she’s overwhelmed and feels defeated. She cries and whimpers—my hand rubbing her back and caressing her hair.

“……………..I hate myself when I’m with you………………You deserve a better girlfriend. One that’s not going to hit you when she’s mad …………..This is isn’t working ……………….”

I don’t have as much to say as she does but there’s a horrible truth in all her words. Is it time to throw in the towel? Is it time to quit? Is our season over? God, I’m so fucking tired, literally. But I can’t go to sleep when she’s upset and crying. I place my hands on her back like someone at the altar in a church would do and pray silently, God. Please reach your hands over her…over us.

After a while of my persistent loving affection, she encourages a short sex session, which is wonderful.

“You make me feel so good, baby.”



Anonymous said...


Anonymous said...

this shit is lame

Jennifer Davis said...