Chapter 3: Cold Water

- one week later -

Ricky is off to work. Greater news, I no longer work weekends, but weekdays, because either our bills are getting higher or Ricky's paycheck is getting smaller. Even greater news, I started my "monthly" maybe an hour ago, so now I'm going to be an even greater sensitive ass bitch. I see him out, but he acts like I'm not there, per usual. And of course, it hits me harder this morning than any other.

I take a quick shower diversed between sulking and singing, and start heading towards the Cafe Conclusion in the same Ford I graduated high school in. I only come here on Wednesdays (my days off); I'm busy most of the rest of the week with work and college and art projects. I walk in and look for a vacant window seat. I order my caramel frappe and as soon as i sit down, I begin a sketch of the little slug outside of the window. Not too long in, I hear a familiar voice call out my name. "Asia-Marie?". I look up and see the smiling lips of Michael mouth my order back to me. He hands me my drink and kind of stays an inch or two longer than last time, like he wants to say something to me. But, instead, he quickly smiles and walks off. I watch him walk all the way back behind the counter, and we make eye contact one last time as he secretly steals another look in my direction. I laugh it off and carry on.

Half an hour later, I return to my truck to head home. I pull out of the parking lot and pass two green lights until I see something that catches my eye. I notice Ricky's car, most recognizable with the faded "FUCK 12" sticker on his back window, parked outside of the biggest bar in town. I made a two second decision of either going in to see why he was there (being at this time, he isn't off nor on break) or just leave it be. I decided to just leave it alone and push it to the back of my mind. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. "Why was he at the bar when he's supposed to be at work", I thought to myself and made a u-turn straight to the parking lot of the bar. I sit in my truck for a minute or two and question myself in the matter of seconds before going inside. What if I see something I don't want to see? What if I regret going in there? Why should I even be worrying about what he does; I should be able to trust the man I live with..? I get raided with anger and hurt and immensely head home without going inside the bar.

I sit in the warm bath water I made that slowly turns cold with every passing minute. My face is wet only by the vast tears leaving my eyes with every thought of distrust and uncertainty of being here. Why do I stand in a place that doesn't leave me any ground? I work on my project until Ricky comes home around an unusual 6 o'clock p.m.

"Your home early", I say to him as he walks in and notices me sitting in his favorite chair with a wine glass in my hand.