Pieces

Bad Day

DATING: 1 year 10 months

She drags her feet down the hall to her apartment door. A trial of remaining raindrop follows behind her. Her clothes clings to her body as she frustratedly puts in the key and turns it.

"For someone of your class, I came to the educated conclusion that this wouldn't be the best fit for your expertise."

The door opens and the room is warm and she can see her boyfriend dancing in the kitchen, going between from the stove, the oven and the cabinets. He sings terribly to the chorus of the song, completely unaware she's home. She smiles and closes the door softly. No wanting to disturbed his joy with her sadness.

She slips off her shoes and quickly go into their room. She strips off the wet clothes and tosses them in the hamper, before slipping on his old shirt and her pajama pants. Crawling into bed, she uses her phone to distract her from the embarrassment she had to face earlier today.

She should be used to this by now, being black.

But it still seems to crawl under her skin.

The blatant ignorance and disrespect still seems to bother her to no end.

Race was not a conversation she wanted to have again with her white boyfriend, no matter how caring and considerate he is. In the back of her mind, she's waiting for the day he realizes he can't do it anymore and leave.

That's seem much more peaceful than this limbo she places herself in.

She soon wakes up to the buzzing and ringing of her phone, she blindly fishes under the blanket to find it, but he walks in first. His face changes from happy to confused. In one hand, his phone and the other a plate of freshly made spaghetti.

He sees the mascara and eyeliner that has dropped down to her cheeks. Her slumped shoulders and distant face tells him almost everything.

"Long day," she forces a smile, that cracks her lips. She quickly licks them, and tries to put on a happy face. "Spaghetti?"

He slips his phone into his sweatpants pocket and comes around his side of the bed and sits beside her.

"This could help." He lets out an easy smile and tries to hand her the plate.

"I'm not hungry." A bold face lie. Even if she ate lunch during work, by this time she's searching the cabinets for snacks, or looking for some leftovers from a family diner in the refrigerator.

Still, he twirls the spaghetti around the fork and pokes her mouth with it until she opens her mouth and chews it. The taste of the food reminds her of her appetite and she greedily eats all the food, trying to suppress tears from this act of love. He just sits beside her, leaning on the headboard, watching her try not to cry. Waiting for her to talk about what happened.

She finishes and puts the plate on her nightstand and slips back into the comforter.

For a minute, there is no movement.

"What happened today?" he reaches out for her hand, squeezing it. She limply holds his.

"Work." She quickly answers, hiding her face under the multitude of throw pillows. He nods and lets go of her hand, puts up her plate and goes into the kitchen. She hears the dishes clatter and the tv turn on in the living room. She flips the blanket off of her and slowly makes her way to him.

His face is cool, as he blankly watches the tv and eats his own plate. He hates feeling distant from her, and that's all she's been doing. She takes a seat on the other side of the couch and takes the remote form the coffee table and mutes the show. Unfazed he continues to act as if she didn't do it.

"Today was a rough day."

"Okay."

"It was a combination of power, sexism and racism. I didn't want to unload all that on you, so I â€" "

"Closed yourself off instead of telling me." He sets his plate down and turns to her. "I understand that in the past, you had to pretend everything was alright because no one cared. But we've been dating for two years and we have promise ring because one day we will marry eachother. I will always be here, yet you still don't want to tell me when your having a bad day." Tears wells up in her eyes.

"I came home and you were happy and dancing around cooking." He blushes a little when she mentions his dancing but continues.

"I was happy because I knew you would be coming home soon. I love you. I love being around you. I look forward everyday to coming home to you and I dread leaving for work." He leans his elbows on his knees, before looking her in her eyes. A feat that never stopped to make her heart beat faster. "You promised you would work at it. You promised."

"I am – I will. I just, I just slipped back into an old habit. Its still weird for me to be this happy. I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to tell me that you don't love me anymore and you haven't for a while." She wipes away tears that run down her face.

He shifts closer to her and holds her cold hands, rubbing them to make them warm. "We are not your parent. We will never be. I love you and all I ask you to do is trust me and be honest." He glances to the clock on the wall and sighs. "Maybe not tonight but soon. Come on, you're tired." He stands up and helps her up, but she doesn't make a move for the door, she places her head on his chest and hugs him. He wraps his arms around her and sways little from side to side, as she cries in his shirt.

"I love you, I really do." He smiles at her blubbering.

"I know, I love you too." He nestles his chin on the top of her head.

"What would I do without you?" she muffles in his shirt.

"Shh, we don't have to think of anymore bad things for today. We are fated to meet each other. Our destiny." He chuckles.

He knows she grew up emotionally abused.

Raised to be insecure.

She was not the easiest to love all the time.

But

It doesn't matter.

All he wants to do for the rest of his life is always coming home to her.

To him, it feels like getting exactly what you want for Christmas every time he sees