Foxxay

1

Hank was going on a business trip. He made me pack his clothes earlier and I was more than happy to do so because this means I get a break and a chance to plan a way to get him out of the house. It feels like I'm on a desert island and he's an enormous monster creeping in the shadows and torturing me whenever I'm least expecting it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel like I can't go to anyone about him. I know there are resources and I'm literally a fucking witch living in a house full of witches, but deep down I feel like I deserve it. He hasn't always had a temper. The first time he hit me was late last year, after four years of marriage. It was during an argument that I started. After all these years of my anxieties and fertility issues and both of our jobs taking up all our free time, he must have just snapped. The guy I met five years ago wouldn't have even entertained the thought of doing this to me. That's part of the reason I chose him. He was a nice guy. Had great manners, wasn't a slob, wanted the same things from life as I did, even won over Myrtle's approval. I tried telling him to leave before when everyone was out of the house, but of course that didn't go well. He didn't hurt me or anything that night. He sobbed and begged and promised to change and said he recognized the error of his ways. The next day I somehow found a way to piss him off and got a backhand to the face. I never know what's going to set him off anymore. In the past two months he started drinking heavily and he doesn't hit me where I can hide it anymore. I have no idea how I'm going to get him out.

I only have one person that I can trust with this and I think she knows. It gets humid quick in the greenhouse so there's no way I can keep my oversized cardigans on and there's only so many times I can slip in the shower or burn myself with the flat iron. The looks she gives me these days aren't the usual stolen glances and kind sparkle. When I hang my sweater on the doorknob, those gray-blue eyes are filled with concern and behind that, a thunderstorm of rage. We have a connection deeper than anything I have felt before and I guess I'm too ashamed to reach out. I don't want her to see me like this, but I know she wouldn't judge. When I see her after a long day at the dinner table, my mood changes for the better. The best is when we find each other in the kitchen, looking for a cup of tea to calm the nerves or just a midnight snack. If there's no one else around we can talk for hours on end. Some nights I can't go to sleep without going downstairs just in case I get to run into her. The other night we found ourselves in this familiar predicament, but this time it was different. She was standing at the fridge putting back a case of strawberries when she heard me enter. She looked back and a smile graced her lips. God, that smile. A faint blush started spreading over her cheeks. she was a tank top and some short blue cotton pajama pants. I could see the toned muscles in her arm holding the fridge door open as she stood up and the muscles faintly through the fabric covering her back. She closed the fridge door with her hip.

"Hey. Can't sleep?"

I nodded. "I need to stop watching TV before bed. I swear that blue light keeps me up." You keep me up. I can't get you out of my mind.

"That's why I don't even touch my phone an hour before bed. I probably should stop comin' down here too." Please don't. "But I know I won't. This place is always stocked with yummy goodies. You wanna share some of these? I also got blueberries and raspberries in here," she said, raising the bowl slightly off the counter.

I nodded again and we made our way to the little card table by the window. It was pretty warm this evening, so I reached over and flipped on the switch for the fan. She had a couple beads of sweat forming on her temple and her hair was tussled around. Usually her wavy hair was a little on the wild side due to the Louisiana humidity, but this was not the same. Then I remembered seeing her earlier out of my office door arriving back at the house with a friend late after dinner. She had dark brown hair that was cut in a perfect sharp angled bob, smoky makeup, and a black dress. A little black dress. They had been holding hands and giggling and shushing each other all the way up the stairs until I heard Misty's door shut. Wait. That wasn't just a friend, was it? Did they... it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. Why does it matter? I could feel my cheeks warming up and before I could think about it, it slipped through my lips.