When they fought, they fought. Actually, it was more like she fought. He would just stand there, teeth clenched, willing himself not to become too loud, too out of control, too angry. He would some how use reason and logic while she would stand there cursing and crying.
Sometimes she just wished he would break his calm façade, just once. Sometimes she just wanted him to start yelling right back and rip her to shreds. She wanted him to explain everything that was wrong with her, list all of her faults, remind her of every mistake she ever made. But he never did.
And it scared her.
Sometimes, lying in bed in the dead of night after they had already made up, she wondered if his unwillingness to lash out stemmed from indifference. That maybe her threats meant nothing to him. That maybe he really didn’t care if she walked out the door at that very moment, or whatever ridiculous exclamation she had just made. In her mind, she felt that when they were fighting, they were fighting for each other, to keep this together. To keep this relationship already filled with missed chances and misinterpretations in one piece. She felt that when she was fighting she was fighting to keep him. And maybe his reluctance to yell back was his reluctance to keep her.
But it wasn’t like it wasn’t working out. Most of the time it was as close to perfect as either of them could have imagined. But that’s what made the fights so harsh. It brought them back to reality. This wasn’t a fairytale, after all.
This is the problem with dating your best friend. This is the problem with dating someone you know too well. You know exactly what will hurt the most, what name or phrase will cut the deepest. You know exactly what to say in order to rip a wound on top of a scab they forgot they had. And even though you regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, you can’t help feel a smug sense of superiority, if only for a second.
The only problem is your opponent has the same exact trick up their sleeves.
After one particularly nasty argument over something she couldn’t even remember anymore, he slammed the door shut, the noise ringing in her ears.
She spent the rest of the night willing herself not to cry. Although he had not screamed at her as she had sort of been hoping, he still had said some of them cruelest things she had ever heard come out of his mouth. She knew deep down that he hadn’t meant a word of it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. She had tried calling him on his cell phone, to apologize and make him come back, but all she heard was the familiar ring coming from her living room. She sunk into her bed, letting her guilt and uncertainty enfold her.
As she lay in bed, she would suddenly become too hot, then too cold. She constantly turned over and repositioned her pillows, as if they were causing the bed to feel foreign to her.
She had somehow made herself fall into a dreamless, uncomfortable sleep when she heard the front door creak. Her stomach sunk with terror until she realized who it was and patiently lingered for him to slide next to her and make everything alright.
So she waited.
Had she imagined the sound of the door creaking? Was this all just some half-awake, half-asleep dream fulfillment fantasy thing? Was there, at this very moment, some serial rapist murder slinking through her house?
After a few minutes of silently debating whether she was about to be killed, she got up quietly and slowly snuck into the living room, only to be greeted with a familiar snore.
She let out an audible groan and rolled her eyes and she went over to the couch and began to shake him until he was awake enough to understand she was urging back to his real bed.
Still quite groggy, he followed her back to the bedroom and climbed into the bed, instantly putting his arms around her and pulling her closer. He whispered an apology and she turned to face him.
It was time.
She explained her discontent and worries while he looked her straight in the eye the entire time. She was afraid once she was done talking there would be an awkward silence and another, less appealing confession, but instead she barely had to wait a moment for his reply:
“I will never stop fighting for you.”
Story Notes:
I haven't written anything in awhile, so comments would be wonderful. This also has not been beta'd, so I apologize for any errors, including tense changes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no infringement is attended.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no infringement is attended.
thesmiths is the author of 0 other stories.
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