Keeping You

Chapter Five

Juliet

"Stop telling me that you love me and just show me, Simon!" I shouted.

"The house you're living in, the car you drive, the credit cards you use, all of those are me showing you."

I was so sick of him using this shit on me.

"Stop pulling this on me. You're my husband. It's your job to provide for me, especially since you insisted that I don't study or work." I reminded him.

"You've been talking back and having this attitude lately, and I'm not here for it. Is your stupid therapist doctor telling you to voice your opinions or something?"

He demeaned me in a way that I used to let slide, but I've had it up to here, and I was done.

"Me fighting with you isn't talking back. When I show up at the office, I feel like a moron because you're not with me. It's couples therapy. You're supposed to be there with me. Don't you want to fight for us?"

"Fight for us? God, what the fuck are you saying?"

"Don't. Don't curse at me." I stood my ground.

"You aren't allowed to go back to his office. Whatever he's saying to you is obviously pinning you against me."

"I'm not allowed?" I repeated. "I'm not a child, Simon. I'm your wife."

"It doesn't feel like it. Why haven't you been cooking anything lately?" He asked the stupidest and most misogynistic question he could have asked me at this moment.

"Because I'm sick and tired of eating alone. You don't share a single meal with me. You don't even have coffee with me. When's the last time you took me out? We used to go dancing when we were dating. Why did you change?"

"I'm not the one that changed, Juliet. I'm the same person I've always been."

"I can't do this anymore. I emotionally and physically cannot do this anymore. All we do is fight. Day and night, we're arguing about something."

"I mean, you woke up this morning just to berate me about my hair being in your face. I don't even get a good morning kiss. I get nothing from you. You don't miss me? You don't miss touching me?"

"When you're like this, I don't even want to be in the same room as you."

"Yeah, the feeling's mutual."

"I don't have to take you out or touch you to let you know I love you." He repeated the same crap he's been repeating every time we fight.

"Tell me one thing you do for me. One thing."

"I take care of you."

"Not really. I take care of myself. When I'm sick, I buy medicine for myself. When I'm on my period, I head out to buy pads. When I'm hungry, I cook for myself. When I'm upset, I cry by myself."

"You do nothing, Simon. Nothing. I'm always the one to give in whenever we fight, but not this time. You want to keep speaking to me as if I mean nothing; then, I will treat you as such."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I ignored him, headed past him in the kitchen, and went down the hall to our bedroom. I pulled out an old bag I used to use for college books and began shoving my clothes inside.

"Stop with the theatrics, Juliet." He snapped from behind me.

I kept packing my clothes, not knowing where I was going with this, but I needed a break. He reached for my wrist and pulled me away from my bag.