Sixteen (H.S Short Story)

Chapter Three

 
 
 
 
 
 
“Harry…” I groan as I enter the kitchen and my eyes fall upon the tower of unwashed dishes.
 
When I left this morning, Harry was passed out on the sofa and even though I felt like packing up and leaving just then, I stayed. I kissed him goodbye and left for work. A conlusion to the mess comes to my mind- He must have decided to cook himself something to eat during the day, resulting in the small heap of dishes infront of me. I can’t help but feel a little upset by it.
 
“Harry!” I yell into the air with a frown on my face. Harry doesn’t respond to my grumpy call and I slump my shoulders in defeat. With a sigh I roll up the sleeves of my blue button up and start with the dishes.
 
“No use in starting a fight over this.” I mumble and shake my head, knowing that I’ll definitely start a fight.
 
The anger and frustration slightly building in my chest makes it more evident that Harry and I will probably end up fighting or bickering. Minutes pass and I feel myself grow more upset with each passing second. Has Harry not realized I’m home? With an aggravated flick of my wrist, I drop a pan into the sink causing a loud bang. If he doesn’t hear that then he must be deaf. I gently peek across my shoulder to the hallway but there’s no sign of movement. I roll my eyes and almost snarl as continue with the dishes. As I finish the dishes I hear footsteps approaching.
 
“Oh. You’re home. I thought I heard something.” Harry’s voice sounds behind me. Took him long enough.
 
He swiftly kisses me on my cheek and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. Did he go out drinking during the day? I wouldn’t know. I refuse to look at him.
 
“Yeah.” My frown deepens as a splash of water lands on my shirt. An automatic death glare takes over my facial features. Why is it impossible to stay dry whilst doing the dishes?
 
“Everything alright?” Harry mumbles while leaning into the granite top next to me. My glare moves from the water to Harry.
 
“Of course.” I give him a tight-lipped smile and dry my hands on a hand towel. I must look crazy. I can't imagine that glaring and attempting a smile go well together.
 
“Sorry for not washing the dishes. I just woke up and was about to wash them.” He gives me an apologetic smile and I can feel my resolve slighty falter as I look into his green eyes. Those beautiful green eyes.
 
His hand slowly reaches up to scratch the back of his neck and I feel my face drop. He always scracthes his neck when he’s lying.
 
“Don’t lie.” I state simply and turn my back to him. My previous assumption of him going out druing the day still lingering in my mind.
 
“I don’t see the issue here.” He walks after me as I make my way to the room. Well there’s to not starting a fight.
 
“There’s no issue.” I snap and pull open my clothing drawer to get something more comfortable to wear. My eyes linger on his black t-shirt which causes last night’s heartache to resurface and instead I settle for some black pajama shorts and a white spaghetti top.
 
“Clearly there is one. I would have washed it.” He defends himself while I bite my lip in frustration.
 
“It’s not about the dishes!” I yell at the wall and feel my face heat up. It’s never about the dishes.
 
"Then what is it, Sierra! I can't read your mind." He yells, frustration and anger laced in his voice.  I hate it when he yells.

“I’m tired Harry.” I whisper and feel my lip quiver as I rest my shaking hands on the drawer. My back is still turned to Harry, but I can feel the anger radiating from his body.
 
“Tired of what exactly?” Harry sighs. His monotone makes me want to punch him in the face. I can’t keep up with this anymore. He speaks again before I can reply.
 
“When did we start constantly bickering over nonsense?” He rests his hand on my shoulder and I can’t stop the tears from spilling over my cheeks. I stifle the urge to shrug of his hand. I shake my head and bite my lip.
 
“When did we stop loving eachother?” I counter and feel Harry’s hand freeze.
 
His sharp intake of breath clues me in that he did not expect me to say something like that. What did he expect?
 
“What?” He murmurs and I feel my chest constrict. His hand drops from my shoulder and I gather up the courage to turn around.
 
“Just stop Harry.” A sob escapes my lips as turn to face him. His face has paled and his eyes are wide.
 
“You make it so obvious that you’ve stopped caring about me.” I cry out and clutch my chest in fear of my heart physically breaking.
 
“Obvious? What are you talking about?” He yells and runs a hand across his face in frustration and possibly anxiousness. 
 
“You’re never at home Harry. You’re always out drinking and when you do come home you’re so drunk you barely remember I’m your wife. You don’t acknowledge me at all. You never have time for me." I ramble.