“Beth,” Michael said in a disapproving tone. “What’s all this?”
Feeling guilty, I dumped the sausages in the sink and turned on the cold water until the delicious aroma in the kitchen was replaced with a sodden, smoky mess.
“I made dinner,” I said miserably. “Or at least, I tried to. I’m sorry, Michael.”
Michael narrowed his eyes and for a moment, I thought he was going to lecture me. Even though Michael was wealthy, he liked living like we were close to the poor house. We still lived in the same two-bedroom condo that Michael had bought in his early twenties, and although everything we had was new and functional, I couldn’t help but wonder why exactly he was so bent on saving everything he earned. It was a nice break from the other guys my age who spent all their money on strip clubs and beer, but sometimes I wished we could have the luxurious life that Michael’s money would have afforded us.
“You decided on dinner without consulting me first?” Michael put his hands on his hips.
I frowned. “I was hungry,” I said softly. “I’m sorry – did I do something wrong?”
Michael sighed. “You know how often I’ve spoken to you about being inconsiderate, Beth. Don’t you think you should have asked what I wanted?”
“I would have made you whatever you wanted as soon as you asked for it,” I said. I felt my voice edging dangerously close to a whine. “Michael, I care about you.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “So you’d just prefer to waste food? Cook two meals?”
“No, that’s not what I meant at all—“
“Shut up, Beth,” Michael said. He glared. “You don’t have any right to talk to me right now.” He sighed. “I’m going out,” he added. “I’ll be home later.”
“What time?” I ran after Michael as he walked towards the front door. “Michael, where are you going?”
“Like I’d tell you,” Michael said tartly. He grabbed his jacket from the hall closet and slammed the door so loud I heard the echo in my brain. He turned around and glared at me one more time.
“Michael, I’m sorry,” I said. “I really didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Just try thinking about someone other than yourself for once,” Michael snapped. “You think you could do that for me, Beth?”
I didn’t answer. Michael gave me one last withering glance, then slammed the door behind him.
--
I spent the rest of the night meticulously cleaning the kitchen until there was no trace of the burned sausages. I cleaned the living room, too – I didn’t stop until the white paint gleamed on the baseboards and every single book was perfectly in place.
I’d completely lost my appetite, but I knew that I’d be sick if I didn’t eat anything. Finally, I grabbed a bowl of cereal and ate mindlessly in front of the television. Michael hated when I ate in the living room (and watched reality TV) but I figured since he wasn’t there, he’d never know. Afterwards, I washed my dishes and went upstairs.
The longer Michael was gone, the more panic I felt. Even a long, hot shower didn’t help. Finally, I dug through the closet and pulled out my new nightdress. I figured that maybe I needed a little bit of luck tonight – besides, the wedding was two months away, and I could always go shopping for more stuff. I ripped the tags off, then pulled the nightgown over my head and climbed into bed. The clean cotton against my skin felt relaxing, and soon, despite my anxiety, I was drifting off to sleep.
The next thing I knew, Michael was holding on my shoulder and breathing noisily in my ear.
“Michael?” My voice was thick and clogged with sleep. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Beth,” Michael grunted. He put his hand inside my cotton nightgown, pawing at my breasts. Normally the touch of his fingers on my nipples was enough to send my heart racing with desire, but it felt wrong all of a sudden.
“Michael, I’m not really in the mood,” I said as I shifted under Michael’s body. Instead of taking his hand away, he slipped his fingers to my other breast, pinching and rolling my nipple between his thumb and index finger. Pleasure raced through my body but my heart felt numb and wooden in my chest.
“C’mon, baby,” Michael pleaded. The sour smell of whiskey washed over my face and I groaned, turning away.
“I’m not in the mood,” I said again, more loudly this time. “Why don’t you just go to sleep?”
“Come on,” Michael grunted. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. Climbing on top of my body, Michael forced my legs apart and shoved a muscular thigh against my crotch. Panic exploded in my chest and I cried out as I pushed him away. For a moment, Michael stared at me in drunken lust. Then he narrowed his eyes and glared.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just not in the mood. We fought earlier, Michael. I want to make things right before we have sex again.”
“Goddamned bitch,” Michael muttered under his breath. He pulled his hands away from my body and rolled over in bed, making the whole mattress leap into the air. For a moment, we lay together in silence. Then Michael got to his feet and stumbled out of the room, cursing me under his breath the whole time.
My heart was racing and tears filled my eyes as Michael slammed the bedroom door behind him. I knew that I should be a good fiancée – that I should chase after Michael and make him see that I loved him, that I’d do anything for him.