Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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Somehow, I manage to land myself on the couch. Yes. I, Erik King, sleeping on the couch in the basement of my parents house. How did I end up here? Well, that's a great question. The answer? Simple - I tried to tell my girlfriend what to wear.
It wasn't my intention to try and police her choice of attire, not at all. But Rosie always wears my t-shirts to bed, always. That, or she wears nothing on the rare times when I manage to get lucky and make love to her right out of the gate. But you get the point. And somehow, me asking her why she wasn't wearing one of my t-shirts and being a little...annoyed? Was unacceptable. Inexplicable. Unjustified.
Long story short, I'm in the dog house and my status is trying to get back with my previous owner (aka, have my girlfriend let me back in bed). Granted, she wasn't the one to relegate me to the couch; but after a little arguing and her refusing to speak to me, I asked if she wanted me there and when she didn't respond, I told her I would sleep downstairs to give her some space.
Now, I'm seriously starting to regret that decision. That's the thing about emotions, anger. In the moment, you feel so justified and can't understand the other person's point of view; you think you're so right and they're so wrong. Then you spend about five minutes with your feet dangling off the end of the couch and pulling out different children's toys that have been lodged into the couch by your nieces and nephews, and your attitude changes real quick.
Like, maybe I shouldn't have pushed the subject; maybe I should have just accepted that she wanted to wear some sweats and one of her hoodies to bed over one of my t-shirts. I guess, I don't know. I like seeing her in my stuff; love it. She looks so fucking adorable in it, so good; and plus, it gives me easy access for, well, you know, sex.
Kind of like if she wore a skirt with no underwear. Great, now I have an erection.
"What're you doing here?" Link asks, his voice coming from behind the couch and by the staircase. I have to awkwardly shift myself to even be able to sit up; I'm telling you, furniture was not made for people of my stature. And by stature, I mean height and size and someone that eats about a dozen eggs a day.
He's wearing a shit-eating grin on his face, and I can tell that he's loving every second of the explanation I'm about to give. "We had a fight." I answer, rolling my eyes and going back to the fettle position before he can even respond. I hate fighting with Rosie; I hate us being mad at each other.
I'm not even mad anymore, I just wanna apologize and get back into bed (both literally and figuratively) with her. I think spending forty-five minutes by myself has shown me just how wrong I am and I can now live happily knowing that my girlfriend is right about everything. Like they say, happy wife, happy life, right?
It's not even that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. I think we were both just tired from waking up so early and traveling all day; and being around my family. It's a very emotionally draining process and I should've been more sensitive towards the fact that maybe Rosie would feel it even harder with her anxiety and stuff.
"Oh, this is rich." Link laughs, loud bellowing laughter. So loud I'm surprised that the cops don't show up at the front door because our neighbors filed a noise complaint. Link and I are close; but we're still like any siblings who thrive off of the trivial misery of the other. "You. And your girlfriend. Had a fight." He can barely make the words out and I, being the mature, grown adult, that I am, chuck a pillow at his head.
It's true that Rosie and I barely fight - if ever, about anything. Usually, I'm too busy being all over her to get into a back-and-forth about anything. And even if we get annoyed with each other, I'll end up apologizing or just looking at her for a second and then feel a thousand times better. It's hard to be annoyed when you're looking at the love of your life who makes everything feel like home.
Rosie is home to me, she's my whole life; she's all I want.
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off." I grumble, turning up the volume on the TV. There's some old basketball game from a few weeks ago on: Raptors vs. Golden State Warriors and even though I care very little about basketball, it's the only thing on TV and I need something to keep myself occupied. I also need a way to keep myself from texting Rosie a thousand times.
Not that I haven't done it already about a half dozen times already. Doesn't really matter I guess, seeing as she's definitely asleep by now. Either that or she's just ignoring me; I think I prefer the first one more, because it means that I have hope for the morning.
The last thing I want our first Christmas to be remembered by for the rest of our lives, is one stupid argument.
"What'd you do?" Link asks, motioning for me to move my legs out of the way so he can sit down. I don't know why, when there's plenty of room on the other couch; maybe he's just trying to be a dick. Regardless, I could use someone to talk to; or someone rather, that'll keep me from thinking about how much I fucked up.
I could've been fast asleep (or making love to) my beautiful girlfriend and instead, I am here, in the freezing cold basement, repenting my sins or whatever my mom would call it. I'm sure she doesn't believe in pre-marital sex, so I would be repenting things for a while.
"Nothing." I answer, earning a laugh from him and my legs to get practically squashed to death by his fat ass. I guess that's where I learnt my lack of personal space from: my older brother. I'm sure Rosie would be proud. "It was just something stupid. Not even a real fight." I explain, wanting to make myself feel better for how the night went. Did it work? Not really.
He nods, taking a long drink from his beer like he's been there himself a few times. I'm sure he has, seeing as him and Cassidy have been together for longer than a Bachelor relationship. "Always is." He says, thankfully not bothering to ask for the intricate details of are lovers quarrel. Is that what you call it? When your girlfriend gets mad at you for being a jackass? Hopefully.
"We'll be fine tomorrow." I add, as if he asked a question or showed any interest in our relationship. In some ways we have; but men are different that way, we don't need to know everything going on in the relationships of one another. Unless it's about sex - but even then, we keep it vague.
At least, the gentlemen do. The fuck boys will detail everything that went on in intricate and overly exaggerated detail; like yeah, I'm sure that girl you met on Tinder let you fuck her sister in the ass while she watched. Get real.
"What time are you doing presents tomorrow?" I ask, wanting to both occupy my mind and count the number of hours left before I can apologize to my girlfriend. Not like I haven't already - both in person and over text, but she still hasn't responded. But like I said, she's not awake. I hope she's not.
"Whatever time they wake us up." He answers, running a hand over his beard which is both overgrown and in need of a serious trim. I guess between five kids and trying for a sixth one (something he hasn't admitted but I'm sure of), he doesn't have a lot of free time. I wonder if Rosie would like me with a beard.
He sits for about another minute, as if trying to provide me with moral support through his presence, before standing up. "You guys will be fine." He says, as he heads back towards the staircase, his massive feet smacking against the floor. "Just apologize and move on. It's for the best." And with that, his heavy steps are going up the stairs and leaving me behind to think about things again.
