Psychological Affairs

Chapter Thirty-Eight: I Love You

I sat back on the bed in slience. Cold. Eery. Silence. Everything seemed so calculated. My body became oblivious to my emotions. I’ve tried to make it stop—make it all go away, but I feel nothing. The vibrations from the outside footsteps made me aware that someone was here. I stood up and walked over to the door, but the door already opened. It was Chris, coming home from work.

“Hey Mike, what are you doing here so early?” He asked, walking over to me and giving me a kiss.

“I quit.” I stated ever-so-bluntly.

“What?” He asked.

“I said, I quit.”

“What—why? You didn’t have to quit for me? You know-” He began before I interrupted him.

“It’s not you. My boss-my boss-” I started to tremble as the memories flashed.

“Your boss? Your boss did what, Mike? What did he do?” He said, holding onto me.

“He-he-he-” I started to hyperventalate.

“Breathe, Mike. 1-2-3-4.” He started to demonstrate.

I did what he told me before a plethora of tears rushed out of my eye sockets.

“He-he-he-he tried to-to-to make a move on me.”

“As in rape?” He asked; his face turning into several shades of red. I quickly shook my head.

“N-N-No. He kissed me and then I pushed him away. Then, he started saying all of this racist shit—calling me a whore who would sleep her way for a postion.”

“What’d you do afterwards?”

“I slapped him and told him I quit. I ran away and sat at the bus stop since lunchtime.”

His face went from angry to confused.

“How’d you get here if that bus comes at 6 p.m. around here? It’s only 5—did Angela drop you?”

“N-No. J-“

“James dropped you……here……..to my house? What?!” He said as he exploded.

“Chris, no! It’s not like that!” I pleaded.

“What do you mean it’s not like that?! You had your ex drop you off in front of your boyfriend’s house and you don’t expect me to be mad? Especially when he probably has Narcissitic Personality Disorder—do you know how dangerous that is?! What is he doing around you anyways?!”

“I-I-I-” I said, trying to breathe.

I fell down and curled into a ball—knees into chest style—while crying away. It didn’t take Chris a while to notice this and crawl next to me. He sighed and held me.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I screamed.

“It’s okay.” He muttered into my hair.

“No-no! It’s not. I didn’t make him drop me off here—I made him drop me off somewhere on 71st and West. I took a cab the rest of the way. Chris, I swear! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I wailed into his chest.

“It’s okay—It’s okay.”” He repeated.

“No, no it’s not. All I wanted was to not work on weekends. That’s all I wanted!” I cried again.

“It’s okay, Mike. It’s okay.” He said, tapping my back.

I turned to him, shaking my head. 

“I love you. I want to make it up to you.”

“You don’t.” He said.

“Yes, I do.”