Chapter Seven –
“So, are we ready to apologize?”
I scrunched up my nose, slowly counting to ten under my breath as Mathias stormed into my living room. Cracking my neck from side to side, I rose from my sofa, folding my arms against my chest. Mathias tossed his helmet onto the cushion next to me, missing me by inches, and pocketed his copy of my house keys. My stomach twisted, despising every bit of the dreadfully smug, self-congratulating look etched across his darkly handsome features. I clucked my tongue. What a damn waste.
The complacent smile on his face began to flounder, a hypocritical sense of satisfaction stirring within me. His eyes fell to the princess cut, solitaire engagement ring in the center of my coffee table. He growled, snatching the band from the table, shaking his fist in my face.
“What the fuck is the meaning of this?”
I slowly retreated, narrowing my eyes, drumming my newly-adorned fingers on my crossed arms. He squinted towards the metal band cuffed around my ring finger, his hanging jaw cementing his growing confusion as he eyeballed the tiny, circular hoop dangling from the band.
“What the fuck is that?” Mathias snarled, drops of his spit spraying across my cheeks.
“It's none of your fucking business, that's what,” I snapped, standing my ground, “We're over, Mathias.”
Mathias snorted, his brows knitting dangerously as he paced around my living room, his heels scuffing my hardwood floor. His chest fluctuated as he purposefully trampled across my faux polar bear-skin rug, sullying the lush, parchment-white fur with his filthy boots.
“My point, exactly,” I sighed, rolling my eyes, “Please, if you will, get the hell off my carpet. And watch my floors – that's oakwood for pete's sake. I swear, every time you come around here, my house decreases in value.”
“Hey, you – just – shut the fuck up for a minute.”
“You kiss your mother with that filthy Christian mouth?”
Mathias lunged towards me, wrapping his fingers desperately around my arms. My shoulders stiffened defensively, wriggling out of his grasp. I glared at him, seething.
“Don't touch me, Mathias.”
He dropped the angst in his voice, his tone eerily compliant, “Please, Cleo – just tell me why –”
“Why?” I repeated, aghast, “I'm sick of the abuse, Mathias –”
“I never fucking hit you –”
“No,” I agreed, sighing exasperatedly. I rubbed my temples, continuing, “No, you haven't. All those names all these years, after I've begged you to stop on countless occasions. You have absolutely no respect for me, Mathias. And your godforsaken need to control every little part of me is just unhealthy, not to mention, terrifying.”
“Control? I don't know what you're –”
“The spyware you installed on my laptop? The tracker you downloaded on my cellphone? How about something a little more recent to freshen up your memory – getting my keys duplicated – all of these were done without my permission. Are we seeing a pattern here or do I have to spell it out to a damn cop?”
Mathias breathed heavily through his mouth, still frenziedly stampeding all over my living room.
“You either need to get your shit together, or please, get the hell out of my living room,” I warned, my rage intensifying. I uttered coldly, “You don't scare me, Mathias. You never have.”
Mathias stopped, his heaving chest gradually relaxing. He unknotted his thick, heavily-arched brows, this time, approaching me with cautious, deliberate steps. My shoulders weakened as Mathias snaked his strong, strapping arms around my waist, holding me close to him. He tilted his head and leaned towards me, pressing his lips softly against mine, his fuzzy beard tickling my chin. He pulled away, his watery eyes glistering with remorse.
“Please, Cleo, I love you,” Mathias pleaded, his chin quivering, “Don't do this to me, baby. I need you in my life, I swear I'm gonna be a changed man, just give me one more chance. That's all I'm asking for.”
I cringed, his pleading words all too familiar. In fact, it was starting to sound like a tired, old script. I looked into his imploring, sad brown eyes, and for a fleeting moment, my knees weakened. Happy, laughing memories of us snuggled on my sofa, smearing whipped cream on each other's noses; our one, peaceful fishing trip out at Lake Tahoe; snatching the trophy at a couple's bowling night in a seedy bowling alley, reeled in my mind like a cheesy clip show. I frowned, the jubilant memories short-lived. The verbal abuse, constant degradation, lack of respect and tolerance, topped with the forgotten birthdays and anniversaries, hit me all at once like a tumbling pile of bricks.
“No,” I declared firmly, squirming out of his arms, “I'm sorry, Mathias. I'd like to keep things civil, as we'll still be seeing each other at Church –”
“You stupid bitch –”
“There you go again,” I sighed mockingly, pointing towards my front door, “Well, off you go.”
“You can't make me –”
“No, but I'm pretty sure Matthew would,” I grinned, shrugging, “He's parked outside the door. You really think I wouldn't bring reinforcements? I'm a strong woman, but I'm definitely not stupid.”
The color drained from his cheeks as he pulled apart my curtains, glancing out my window.
“And you can keep your keys, by the way. Matthew's coming in to help me change the locks when you leave.”
Mathias blinked at me, furious, his incredulous eyes bugging out of its sockets.
“Screw you, Cleo.”
“You had your chance. No thanks,” I said simply, cackling to myself, my front door rattling in its frame.