point so I turn, crossing my arms over my chest. "You may have made some mistakes? Do you really feel that way? Please, by all means, tell me what you have been doing otherwise, and I'd still really love to hear what happened to my car."
Jon stands, moving closer to me and tells me that the night the dent happened he had been over at someone’s house. I don’t recognize the name. Another person there that night had backed into my car as they were leaving. Since the damage had been minimal, he had told the girl not to worry about it. Girl, I thought. Interesting.
"It was really thoughtful of you to not be worried about the dent in my car that I'm going to have to pay money for at some point to get fixed."
"If it's that big of a deal I'll pay to have it fixed—" he begins.
I have to stop him, incredulous. "With what money, Jon?"
He shrugs. Thought so. As he stands there, I look at him as if it’s for the first time. He seems almost smaller, with his shoulders pulled inward. I am repulsed. I sink down onto the sofa and turn away from him. Jon stays where he is, as if waiting for me to tell him what to do next. All I can think is: do I still love him? This is unexpected. Needing space from Jon, I tell him I'm not hungry and just need to lie down. I avoid touching him as I squeeze past him and go to our room.
I place my car keys and purse in an empty shoebox on the floor of the closet, still not trusting Jon. Then I change into pajamas and stretch out on our bed. I don’t mean to fall asleep but am so drained from the day that I have little choice. An hour before my alarm normally goes off, I wake up starving. I feel guilty for a moment when I see the leftovers from the meal Jon had made the night before in the fridge. Then I remember the cinnamon rolls I had made, and the mess I had to clean up. Yep, no longer feeling guilty.
I make myself scrambled eggs and toast, washing them down with milk. Then I go back into our room to turn off my alarm before getting ready for work like normal. This morning, I put on make-up. Not much, just concealer under my eyes and mascara. I also braid my hair instead of pulling it back into my usual tight bun. I want to feel good about myself again. It amazes me how now, even though I am no longer taking extreme care to be quiet, that Jon has not said one word. All of those times he had railed at me in the past seem to be a lie now.
On my drive into work, I spend more time thinking about Jon's behavior over the last year. It’s almost clear to me that he was trying to make me feel bad about myself. Did it have something to do with control? I just cannot understand the thought process behind doing that to someone you loved. For so long I had absolved Jon of any responsibility in my unhappiness. Now I wonder if he is the main cause of it.
At work, I do my best to remain calm with everyone I work with. It‘s easier than the day before even though there are some close moments where I think about snapping. Once is at lunch. I’m reading a book as I sit in the break room. Two of the nurses who work in my office hover in the doorway and gossip. Can’t they see I am on break? And reading? How inconsiderate. The counting backwards by ones is not working so I start counting backwards, this time by sevens. One hundred, ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-eight, no, nine, seventy-two…
This way, I avoid having any reasons to talk to human resources. I need this job and am not going to let my bad mood affect it. I have never been this angry for this long, and I’m not certain how to make the feeling go away. I assumed laying into Jon would have worked, but if anything, now that I’ve unleashed on him a couple times, it’s made it harder not to do that every time I’m around him. There is no way I want to emulate the way he has treated me so I do my best to