Scared
“I’ve made roast chicken.”
“I don’t like chicken. Not anymore. You know that.”
“Okay, have pasta again. Whatever. I’m sick of trying to get you to eat.”
“You said I’m going to be sick.”
“I didn’t. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“You want me to be sick, don’t you?”
“Jesus. Can you stop already. You’ve been back five minutes and you’re arguing
again. Why do we have to have the same conversation every day? All I want is us to
be normal again. Like it was before you were sick. I’m tired of this nonsense.”
“I’m scared, but you don’t care.”
“I do care. I take you to the doctor. Stay in bed with you all night when you’re upset. I
cook things, only to throw them in the bin later. I try to make you happy. Buy things
for you. How dare you say I don’t care. You make no effort to help yourself. Don’t
walk away from me and slam the doors. I told you before, you break the glass I’ll sell
your stuff to pay for it.”
“I hate you.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that the next time you want something.”
“Sorry.”
“Whatever.”
“I said, sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“You shouldn’t say it in the first place.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just scared I’m gonna be sick.”
“You won’t. You’ve only been sick twice in your whole life and never from eating
bad food. You get so angry these days. I don’t understand you anymore.”
“Remember yesterday? You said you would get me something to cuddle up to when I
get angry. To calm me down. Did you get it?”
“I’ve ordered a cat.”
“A real one?”
“No, stuffed.”
Cal Marcius is a freelance writer living in England. His stories have been published in print and online. He can be found on Facebook and Twitter.
