THE DOZEN. xviii. GREAT FALL [ warning : depictions of domestic abuse. please do not read if you are severely uncomfortable with this topic. ]
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"YOU DO KNOW you're going to have to clean that up, right?"
Her narrowed eyes grazed over the sight at her feet; couch cushions were thrown astray, papers knocked down, contents of various drawers emptied in the floor. And still, while mentally acknowledging the mess she created, she rolled her eyes and shot back with a fierce, "Ha, funny. That was funny. Hilarious." Under her breath, she muttered a, "Don't," that she hoped he wouldn't hear.
But he did, of course. "What's up?" he asked with a hint of fake concern, shoes padding against the tile as he took a slow step towards her. "What don't I need to do?"
"Just...," she began, extending a hand before her slightly, in spite of not even facing in his direction, "don't. I'm not in the mood right now. If you want to be useful, help me look for the twenty I had."
"You lost your money?" he jokingly questioned, belittlement hiding behind a mask of incredulity. "You, Ellie Tyler, lost your money. Wow."
"See? This is why I don't ever ask you for anything," she countered belligerently, finally turning for their glares to collide. Her's was justified- that she knew. But his? He was just in one of his moods again, she told herself. She knew not to argue with him when he was like this, but her neurotic and defensive side always shone through before her rationality could. "Just- forget it. If you're going to be like that, I'll just do it myself."
"Well, you're not going to get very far, genius," he shot back. "If you want your money so bad, just ask for it. Nicely."
"What?" she sharply questioned, taking a few fearless steps towards him. "Did you seriously steal- hold on..." She slid her eyes close, holding a hand up to signal that he needed to wait for her to process the situation before opening his mouth again.
Little thoughts tagged with subtle details raced through her head. How he must've thought it was genuinely okay to steal from his girlfriend; how it only came to this because he refused to get a job, in spite of her repeatedly asking him to; how his only income depended on her own- which she actually worked for. She spent countless moments convincing herself that she must've had a better grip on reality than he – something to justify how he believed this to be ethically correct.
And it still failed to help her vexation.
She smacked her hands against his chest, only hard enough to make him stumble back just slightly, as a vehement, "Seriously?!" erupted from her mouth.
