Evelyn's Tale

-Forty Three-

She was an idiot. She knew she was an idiot. Bill had been telling her she was an idiot for most of her life. Her sister, Gina, often said the same thing. And they were right. She was a great big fat stupid idiot.

She was selfish, too. George had been most definitely right in his assessment of that. In fact, George had correctly pointed out her numerous flaws over the years, from her horrible singing voice to her terrible cooking to her pathetically female fear of spiders. He had pointed out numerous times that she was emotionally impulsive and far too quick to temper, yet he had never fallen out with her because of those very flaws. Then again, she had never spoken to him so horrifically in front of all of their friends before, so there was a first time for everything.

And like many other first things she had unfortunately endured in life (first period where she bled through her skirt in class and everyone saw, first time getting head lice and her mother had to cut her hair like a boy's, first pimple that she let Clara pop for her and it got infected and made her look like the elephant man, the first time she had watched a man bleed out in front of her... Some firsts were more awful than others), she wished that this one had never happened. Because knowing that she had hurt George in the way she had made her feel like the worst person on the planet.

George Luz, her sweet little labrador puppy of a loyal and best friend; her little portuguese pot of sunshine; her partner in crime. The war had taken so much from her as well as giving her the love of her life and bonds of friendship that she would be tethered to forever. George was the strongest of those bonds. He was a part of her very soul and she felt incomplete in the knowledge that she had potentially jeopardised that.

"He'll come around Ev."

Evelyn looked at her husband and she wanted to offer him a smile. She wanted him to think that she was alright, that she was unaffected by what had happened but there was no point. He would see right through it no matter how much of a facade she put on. Joe knew her better than she knew herself and it was as wonderful as it was unnerving.

"He's not you, Joe," she muttered, blinking back the tears of anger that were welling up once again.

"Come on, baby, I hate it when you do the angry cry," Joe tutted and pulled her against his chest, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her back soothingly.

Evelyn knew she should feel some semblance of relief and joy at the fact that at least Joe had returned to their room in the early hours of the morning, seemingly uninterested in carrying on their argument. She knew that she should have felt relief and joy at the fact that he had quietly undressed before sliding into bed and pulling her against his chest, wrapping her up in his arms as he always did.

"I know you weren't trying to tell me what to do," Evelyn murmured as he moved her hair aside and pressed his lips against the back of her neck. "And I don't know why I flew off the handle like I did."

"I know why," he snorted out a soft laugh, reaching for her hand which lay against her stomach and entwining his fingers with hers, rubbing his thumb over her wedding ring. "It's you. It's just what you do, and even though you drive me fucking insane with these outbursts, especially when they're in front of everyone else, I know it's just the way you are. I'd blame the Italian or maybe the Philly, but I actually I think it's because you've just got far too much fucking Guarnere in you."

"Maybe," she sighed shakily. "But that don't make it alright, does it?"

"Well no, but-"

"But nothing, Joe. How many times are you gonna let me get away with acting like an immature, spoiled brat before you get fed up with me? How many times are we gonna have this same conversation where I apologise and berate myself for being how I am?"