“Look, Roxy, whatever. You want to sit here and stuff your face, fine. Get some tattoos. Get ten piercings on your face, what the fuck do I care!”
My voice rises to a roar but I’m leaving the room, waving my hands in the air. I slam into my bedroom, hearing Roxy yelling something behind me. I pull on some pants and a blouse, not even paying attention to the color or cut. I charge back towards the living room, grabbing my purse.
“Real mature Helen, just go and fuck off in the middle of a fight. Why not.”
“Do you know how mature it is to say, ‘real mature”.
“Do you know how childish it is to repeat?”
We glare at each other. I feel a stab of sadness behind my heart. I just wanted her to come with me. I thought it would be fun.
But she’s right. I would have approached the situation differently if we hadn’t had sex.
What can I say? She’s mine. My territory. I’ve never felt so possessive about anything, ever.
I turn my back on her and slam the door on the way out. I know I’m in the wrong. I don’t give a fuck. I feel she should bend to me. Why wouldn’t anyone want to be a model? She can walk into one of the best jobs in the world without a scrap of effort.
As I head downstairs, I take a moment to appreciate the fact I’m so insanely mad my cheeks are hot, and my legs are trembling. I lost my shit upstairs badly enough to wave my arms, scream and yell while running.
I’m still so mad, right now, that I can’t calm down. I want to scream at passersby and hit walls.
I’d feel surprise, if I could. Tame dame Helen, losing her fucking shit at last.
I can’t feel surprise right now. All I can feel in me is fury and passion.
And I think I kind of like it.
Twenty-Four
Roxanne
When Helen slams out of the apartment, I know I’m yelling something at her back, but if I can’t make it out, there’s no chance that she can.
I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just so pissed off.
How long was I awake for? Like ten seconds? Then she starts going on about going to her work, wedding plans and modeling gigs? Shit! Did I say, even once, that I wanted to be a model?
I could sit here over my coffee going over every single insulting thing she said, but I know that wont help. That crack about my nose ring was especially bad.
What, now that we’ve screwed, she gets to dress me up however she likes?
Shit.
I don’t think I’ve ever wished for a cigarette as badly as I do right now. Whenever I’m really stressed, I find myself lighting up. It’s not like I do it a lot. This frantic, itchy feeling just leaves me wanting the kiss of self destruction to make it go down easier.
I sit down on the couch with my coffee and try not to sulk. I need to think.
So last night was all fairy lights and roses in bloom. Everything perfect. I don’t know why I assumed waking up would be just as good. It should have been, if she would have just shut the fuck up about where I have to go and what I’m supposed to wear!
I try to calm down. The second I start thinking about the specifics of the fight, I just lose the plot. The only question here is, what do I want to do?
I thought Helen was a sweet woman who was just too strait laced. Repressed even. Certainly, hiding behind societal norms, terrified that anyone would find out her hunger for other flavors in life. It seems now that she’s letting herself get excited about things, she’s getting fiery on every level.
But what if I’m wrong?
I don’t know her. I haven’t really met anyone that knows her, only the few at the Nook and at her work dinner.
The thing is, she might be an absolute psycho control freak. Sometimes the really repressed ones are. If she feels like her life is running away with her, the first thing she would do is something like this. Something to get back in control.