How We Love by Michael Ryan Webb

Author:Michael Ryan Webb [Webb, Michael Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven | Adam

I slammed the door to what had evidently become only Mark's house behind me. I was so blindly angry that I didn't even consider how I was going to get home. I wasn't going to just sit around and watch Mark and his new whatever. I ordered a car from an app and walked to the nearby park to wait for it to pick me up.

I couldn't believe that Mark had actually had the audacity to say the things he'd said to me. When I got home, I almost got in my car and drove to the jail to check on Aaron, but I was angry at him too. I'd put my trust in him, and he'd lied to my face about that phone call. I went upstairs and threw back four shots of whiskey.

That only made me angrier. I kept thinking about everything Mark had said to me and ended up slamming my fist through the kitchen wall. The worst part was that I felt nothing in response to it – no guilt, no shock at what I'd done, nothing. I opened the bottle again and drank until I passed out.

Late in the afternoon, I was awakened by loud banging on my front door. I lay perfectly still, hoping whatever fresh hell it might be would just leave me be.

"I know you're in there, dude. Open the fucking door," Aaron's muffled voice called through the door. I weighed my options as well as I could in my buzzed state. I could open the door and have my second ugly confrontation of the day, or I could keep hoping he'd just give up and go away. The latter didn't seem likely, so I begrudgingly opened the door.

"Hey," I said curtly.

"Really dude? 'Hey'? That's all you have to say to me?" he asked angrily.

"What would you like for me to say Aaron?" I asked.

"Oh I dunno man. How about 'sorry I dragged you into my bullshit drinking problem and got you a fucking DUI'?" he said in a mocking tone.

"Yeah, because I put a gun to your head and made you drive the car," I said sarcastically. "Grow up and take responsibility for your own choices. Like, for example how you didn't tell me my husband called me, and apparently deleted the call from my phone since I never saw it in the call logs? Yeah, I saw Mark today. Did you really think I'd never find out?"

"You've gotta be shitting me bro," he said with a scoff. "Yeah, I protected your sorry ass from that call because I knew it'd fuck you up even worse than you already were. Sue me. And you're the king of avoiding responsibility. That's basically your entire existence, dude."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"You sit around whining all day about your sad, desperate divorce like it wasn’t your own goddamn choice, dude," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You bitch about your husband

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