Escaping Parker - F.T. Zele Page 0,4

get to it quick.

Steven: No, I’m fine. I’ll let you know when I need something. I’ll be home at 6pm.

That only leaves me two hours to run around and get back to make sure dinner is made and ready. I start to stress that I’m not going to have enough time, but sitting here worrying isn’t creating more. So I set out to get everything done. Thank God I know the store like the back of my hand.

After a quick stop at the dry cleaners, I make my way through the grocery store, getting everything that is necessary, making a few sacrifices on personal items I need, all in order to save time. I’m lucky I don’t get a speeding ticket on the way home. Fortunately, I bought a pre-cooked chicken from the deli to save some time. Not the first time I opted for some help.

Normally, I love to cook, but today is rushing by, and I can’t seem to slow it down.

I struggle to get everything together and compose myself before Steven walks through that door, but something is looming in the air. Chills run down my back, giving me some weird kind of premonition of how the evening is going to go. I wouldn’t say I’m psychic, nothing like that, just all day I have felt off.

I shake myself from my thoughts; they are only making it harder on me, always anticipating the inevitable.

Everything’s ready, so I set the table, expecting him to walk through that door any minute.

He’s an hour late now, and I start to get nervous. He is always on time when he says he is going to be home. The rare times he doesn’t make it, he lets me know.

I sip my wine, acting like nothing is wrong. Knowing if I call him, it will only make him angry that I’m checking in on him. What if something happened to him? My morbid thoughts start to take over, and wonder if he’s been in an accident. Or maybe he tried to pull his whole I run shit attitude with the wrong person. He could be lying in a ditch right now. A grin creeps across my face.

I’m a horrible person to think that about anybody, but for me, I would do anything to live a normal life. I could just play the sad wife role for a moment, knowing inside I would be thanking God for giving me a way out.

Me and my morbid thoughts.

I wait for another half hour, still hearing nothing, silently praying an officer will come knocking on my door. But there is nothing.

I know the second I get up from this chair he will come barreling through this door, so I decide on not moving. After draining a half bottle of wine, my head feels heavy. Crossing my arms in front of me on the table, I lay my head down on them. Just as my eyes start to close, the door opens, then immediately slams. Disappointment plagues me as he walks toward me, but I show no signs of my private thoughts when I see the look on his angry face.

“I’m not hungry after the shit I just went through.” he says as he walks by the table, reaching out and knocking his plate to the floor. The dish breaks, sending porcelain shards and food all over. “Clean up this fucking mess!” he yells before walking away.

“Ok,” I say quietly and hang my head. The tears start to build, but I’ll be damned if I let one escape and show weakness.

“What did you say?” he stops in his tracks, turning around to face me.

“I said ok. I’ll get this cleaned up.”

“Ok? How about not saying anything and just do what I tell you to do.” He looms over me. “I don’t need your sad, poor me, small answers. Look at me when I am talking to you.”

I’m terrified he’ll see the fear in my eyes. Most men prey upon fear. Not him, it just infuriates him more. I slowly breathe in, begging it to calm me down and make the wetness from my tears suddenly disappear. I lift my head up and look him in the eye.

“What the fuck are you crying for? You know, not only do you embarrass me with your coward attitude, but you embarrass yourself. Clean this mess up and go to bed. I can’t deal with this shit right now. I’ll be in my office,” he says.

The door to his office slams shut,