Worth It

Evan Jackson is five feet and four inches tall. Her hair is the embodiment of sunshine, her eyes look like sunlight sparkling on the ocean, her voice sounds like a freshly lit candle. She has eleven freckles on her nose-- I've counted them-- and the corners of her eyes crinkle just so when she laughs.

She's got a bit of a temper, but maybe that's what I need to keep me in line.

She's the love of my life.

I wait for her to come home from work, sitting on my couch and wondering what I should do with myself. The messaging machine blinks, and I'm sure it's my mom that's called, but I don't check it. Evan would be peeved if I listened to the messages without her.

I touch the small scratch on my ear, glancing to make sure that I've cleaned up all of the porcelain dust from the floor. Evan had thrown a teacup at me last night, and a shard of it had barely grazed my ear. It was my fault. I hadn't any business working overtime with Martha from accounting, regardless of the reason.

I stack my feet on the coffee table, and it wobbles like a dying horse. That had been my fault, too. After all, Evan hadn't really pushed me that hard, but I'd fallen into the table anyways, knocking off a leg and earning myself a bruised rib.

I prop the table up with a book, and it works like new, like nothing was ever wrong with it.

The front door opens, and I look up eagerly. Evan walks into the apartment. She's wearing the sweatshirt of a man that I don't know, hair mussed, sporting a spattering of hickeys that I haven't given her. I can tell that she isn't going to try and hide it from me the moment she meets my eyes. For once, she looks content.

So, I smile, and say, "How was work?"

She sits down next to me on the couch, the few inches between us feeling like a mile wide ravine. "I thought I told you to tell your mother to stop calling around here," she replies, staring at the answering machine.

I nod. "I did, but the message may not have gotten through to her." Evan gets up and presses the play button.

"Hi, Adam, it's Mom. I haven't heard from you much in the past few months, especially since you got married and all. I understand that you're busy, but give us a ring? I'm worried about you." There's a pause after that phrase that speaks volumes. "I love you," her voice says, and then the message ends.

"You've told her, haven't you?" Her voice is dangerously quiet, and I'm afraid to say anything. Once a silence stretches out and I'm sure that it's okay for me to speak, I reply.

"What do you mean?" I ask. She's facing away from me, so I can't see her eyes. It makes me nervous.

Suddenly, she whirls around and slaps me, the silver wedding ring I bought her slicing my cheek. I keep statue still, facing away from her. "You told her that I've hit you, haven't you?"

I don't say anything to defend myself, knowing that that's the best bet in situations like this one. If I let her take out her frustrations, it will be okay. She'll be happy again, and she'll go back to loving me. She punches me, and I wonder if she'll give me a black eye.

I remember the first time she actually punched me, around two weeks after we'd first gotten married, and I had been so angry, I'd almost hit her back. But then a bit of wisdom from my mother floated through my head.

In cases of domestic violence, people always blame the man, no matter what. Don't hit a woman, Adam, no matter how hard she hits you.

So I sat there and took it, and Evan apologized, and everything was fine.

"I slept with Drew." She's been quiet for a time, and now she speaks.

I nod. "I know." I don't look at her.

"Aren't you gonna do anything? Don't you love me at all?" Her voice is quiet, almost hopeless, and I wish she'd just yell at me because it's easier to handle.

I shrug, smiling at her helplessly. "What do you want me to do? It makes you happy. What more could I want?"

She grabs a snow globe from the mantelpiece and flings it at me. It hits the wall next to me, sending small bits of glass into my chin and arm. I flinch, but I don't say a word. It would only make her angrier.

She throws a book next, aiming it at my face. I don't even try to dodge. The spine hits me hard in the lip, and I taste blood, strangely sweet on my tongue. "Why can't you do anything right?" She screams. "You're just a stupid, useless biology major! Why did I marry you?"

I couldn't have answered her if I wanted to. She storms out of the room, slamming our bedroom door behind her. I sit down next to the couch, avoiding the puddle of glass and water, and put my head in my hands.

Some people say that, when you're young, if a boy picks on you, he likes you. I wonder if the same is true for girls?

I touch the scabbing wound on my face. I should leave her, I know. Anyone might say that, that this isn't love.

But this love is different. Evan loves me, I know she does, even though she loses her temper at times. Even though she slept with Drew, even though she doesn't want me speaking with my mother anymore, she loves me with a passion that transcends all of that. That's the only reason she's ever hurt me: because she loves me.

So I sit, picking bloody shards of glass out of my arm, feeling like I've failed her as a lover. The door to the bedroom opens slowly, and I don't look up.

Evan's feet come into my line of vision. She's stepping on the glass, her blood mingling flirtatiously with the water, but she doesn't seem to mind. I take a look at her face.

Evan Jackson is five feet and four inches tall. Her hair looks limp and sad. Her eyes are teary and red, her voice rough when she says, "I'm sorry." She has eleven freckles on her nose-- I've counted them. The crease in between her eyebrows deepens the slightest bit when she frowns. She's got a temper on her, but it keeps me in line.

She's the love of my life.

So, when she folds herself into a crouch and wraps her arms around my waist, I let her. When she cries, I hold her tighter, and when she bumps my split lip, I just swallow the blood. I ignore the bruises and scratches and blood because, in the face of it all,

she's worth it.

FIN

A/N: Hi. I hope you enjoyed this. Maybe enjoyed isn't the right word, but I do hope that you got something out of reading it. This isn't edited, so sorry for any mistakes. Also, if there are inaccuracies, please let me know. I don't want to misrepresent anything.

Thanks for reading.