Dirty Laundry

Part 2: Sometimes I trip over your history.

Bob didn't hear any more Rooster's words. He didn't need to.

You'd stabbed your boyfriend in the neck with a kitchen knife.

He was your boyfriend now.

Bob almost knocked Phoenix's drink clean out of her hands as he staggered to his feet. He mumbled an apology, then grabbed for Rooster's shoulder to hold himself steady, the room threatening to spin around him.

You were waiting for him in your apartment. You said she would cook him a steak dinner with garlic sauce, your speciality, as a reward for standing up for himself and you in front of his friends.

Yet he hadn't done either of those things. How could he still face you, knowing what he knew now?

"Hey, Bob? Are you alright?"

Phoenix was in front of him, waving her hand across his vision. "Bob?"

"Huh? Oh - I'm fine, just lightheaded. I've felt a migraine coming on all day. Probably shouldn't've had that drink. I'm gonna head back to base now."

He pushed through the crowd without looking back, dismissing Phoenix's protestations. He felt guilty about the lie, but his head was truly pounding, and the cacophony of raging thoughts didn't cease until he reached your front door.

Should he have known? You'd never struck him as a violent person, not once. Hurt, troubled, fractured, yes, but never one to deliberately cause pain to another.

He assumed you've been caught stealing out of desperation, or that you've been found with drugs, mixed up in something or someone you shouldn't have been. He'd composed countless stories in his head, each one painting you as the victim of your shaky past. He couldn't bring himself to believe that wasn't true.

She stabbed her boyfriend with a kitchen knife. That takes intention, said a voice in his head, but he forced himself to silence it. He thought of his dad and the years when he could only communicate with him through the phone or separated by bulletproof glass. His father had taught him that everyone deserved a second chance. He would hear you out. He owed you that.

-

"Sweetie?"

Your heart fluttered at the sound of Bob entering the kitchen. A feeling of calm immediately surrounded you as a result of his presence. You looked up from the garlic you'd been chopping and greeted him with a smile.

"Hi, Bobby! You're back sooner than I thought. How did everything go? I hope the squad didn't tease you too much about me. And how are Payback and Fanboy doing?"

Bob didn't answer. He was too transfixed by the gleam of the blade in your hand.

"Bobby?"

You followed his gaze and realised he was staring at the knife. The blood in your veins ran cold and your grip on the handle tightened.

"You know, don't you," you said quietly.

Bob's jaw tensed and his mouth was dry as ash. He nodded slowly.

"FUCK!"

A sickening fearful rage surged through your bones. You shrieked in anger and stabbed the blade down into the chopping board so hard that it remained upright when you let it go.

Bob flinched and cowered away from you until his back almost hit the wall.

"I'm not a monster Bobby."

"I don't - I - I just..."

"Ask me why I did it." You had no time for his stammering, not today. "ASK ME!"