Peaches

Seven

Candy was expected to come over this evening to make dinner with me. I had tried to be as upbeat and cheerful in my text messages to her, it was clear she didn't want to talk about it. It took a little convincing on my end but she agreed to come at seven.

Chris had been out all day so I took this opportunity to prepare the house for company. I spent the hour before her arrival deep cleaning the house like a crack addict. All of Chris's strewn-out clothes were now washed, folded, and neatly stacked in a pile on my blue chair. His boots neatly shined and set by the front door, ready for the next time he wanted to wear them. From what I remember him telling me, he said he could clean.

Still waiting on him to show me that.

At precisely a quarter to seven, there was a soft knock on the front door and Candy walked in with a smile. I couldn't help but notice the dark purple splotches of bruises showing from under her thick foundation. The sight made me sick, but I dare not mention it yet. It was too soon.

"Aw Peachy," she cooed, pulling me in for a hug. "You didn't have to clean for me. You know that."

"Trust me," I laugh. "I really did."

She eyed Chris' things by the couch, everything finally neat and orderly as it should be. "How's it going between you guys?"

I kept busy wrapping up the vacuum cord, wanting to avoid the topic altogether. The way he looked at me last night was unforgettable. How he was gentle with me, even when seeing me scantily clad in my lingerie. "He's still an asshole, that's for sure."

Her eyebrows raised, but we both knew there was no surprise here. "What'd he do this time?"

Made me horny, to say the least.

"Same ol' shit." I rolled my eyes and walked to the kitchen for some well-deserved wine.

"So why you look like you're hiding something?" She followed after me, lifting herself onto the countertop. Right where Chris' little whore sat.

A look of disgust washed over my face. "You don't want to sit there." I warned. Sure, I had cleaned that countertop more than I can count, but no amount of disinfectant would rid me of that image.

She quickly scooted over, squealing out. "Oh my god, Briel. I knew you guys were-"

"Oh, honey," I laughed cynically, pouring two glasses of wine. "It wasn't me he was messing around with on that counter."

"Ew! Who was it?" She giggled.

"I don't remember her name."

Melanie.

"So y'all haven't?"

I shook my head, peering up at her over the rim of my wine glass. "I've had to turn him down countless times."

She crossed her legs daintily with a suggestive smile. "You've got it so bad for him, Briel. You can't deny that man is carved from the finest fruit."

Leaning up against the counter adjacent to her, I gazed up at the ceiling. "It's so true, Candy. I can't even tell you how difficult it is to hold back sometimes. Did I mention he fucking sings too?"

"Is he good?" She wiggled with excitement.

A sly smile crept up my face. "Of course he is, like are you joking me!"

"I don't fucking sing." He stumbled into the kitchen. His face yet again smeared with blood-evidence of yet another fight. The sight of him scaring us enough to make us jump in our spots. Ignoring our frightened squeals, he turned on the kitchen faucet and dipped his head under the water.