måneskin; imagines

bad day [t.r]

today was another bad day in the line of bad days this week. my boss was giving me a hard time at work today especially, snapping at me randomly, basically judging me for every single little thing i was doing. it's gotten so severe that, when i dropped a couple of papers on the ground accidentally, he got into a yelling fit, calling me dumb and useless in front of the whole office. he ended up sending me home, all because someone pissed in his coffee this morning.

no words can describe how mad and upset he made me. i don't know if i'd rather sit down in the shower and cry or break my knuckles whilst punching the walls of my apartment.

when my angry self finally gets to the apartment, i drop all my stuff down at the door and literally run into my bedroom to take the work clothes off my body.
i would burn them if i knew i didn't have to go into work tomorrow.

by this time, which is six in the afternoon, i feel myself getting hungry. opening the fridge, i sigh angrily seeing that it is absolutely empty. nothing, not even one egg.

i go through my kitchen's cabinets and relieve when i find a box of pasta laying around, "that should be enough for tonight." i say and put a pot of water on the stove.

every italian would be disgusted with me because i don't have anything to go with the pasta. not a paste, not any cheese or anything. i just have... well, salt and pepper. better something than nothing right? awful, honestly.

feeling a bit calmer, i rinse out the pasta and put it back into it's pot. i 'season' it with lots of salt and pepper, cringing while doing so. thomas would kill me for this, that's for sure.

expecting full disappointment, i take a bite from my fork and chew. well, if i'll be damned. not that bad actually.
i eat a whole plate after deciding to go for more, i haven't eaten much today at all, this was my first meal of the day.

sitting down at the table again, i enjoy my food as i hear fiddling at the door.

"va bene, ethan, davvero," i hear thomas say as he enters our apartment. ("it's okay, ethan, really.")

"sono solo un po' turbato-" he suddenly stops and trips over my stuff that i left at the door. ("i'm just a bit upset-")

"a cazzo!" thomas shouts, making me jump a little, "y/n! you don't leave your stuff right in front of the fucking door!" he yells and i roll my eyes, eating the rest of my food.

"no, non mi calmo, ethan!" ("no, i won't calm down, ethan!")

"sai cosa? ti chiamo dopo, ciao." he says and hangs up on ethan. ("you know what? i'll call you later, bye.")

he looks around my stuff, "really y/n? you can't even put your things away? what are you, a child?" my boyfriend tells me and moves the bags out of the way.

i laugh to myself quietly. i don't have the time nor the patience to argue with his angry ass.

i finish my second plate and put it into the sink, letting a bit of water run over the dish. thomas comes over to the kitchen, observing my actions. his attention goes to the pot on the stove and he opens it.

"what's this pasta with?" he wonders and takes out a fork, taking a bit and chewing on it.

"is this-" he looks at me, "don't tell me it's plain pasta you just ate?" he asks. "it's not plain," i say, "it's obviously seasoned with salt and pepper." i grin and dry my hands on a nearby napkin.