1-Routine

Lola-On the Evening of Wednesday, the 21st

My solo dinner of Chicken Parmesan is to die for tonight. With my homemade marinara sauce, the tangy spices perfectly combined with the crispy breading and tasted mouthwatering. If I had a Cabernet Blanc, the meal would have been perfect, licking my lips and wiping away the sauce.

While packing the leftovers, I munch on my last piece of savory garlic bread. I love creating delicious meals but prefer avoiding mess. Plus, if I leave it dirty, I get criticized for not cleaning it. That’s the last thing I need, and get started.

The kitchen is my favorite room. I’m not bothered by my mismatched table and chairs clashing with the pale-yellow walls. It makes this room cheerier than the off-white of the rest of the apartment. With a full belly and a skip in my step, I play my favorite dance music and start cleaning. I twirl around my tiny kitchen and vigorously scrub the stove to my favorite song; You’ll never find a love like mine by Stela Cole.

I sing the chorus while fumbling with the leaky faucet to rinse the sponge. Despite his claims, my boyfriend didn’t even try to fix this. Ignoring it, I try to dance on the tile floor without slipping. Spinning barefooted is exhilarating and helps me unwind after a long workday.

I look around my apartment. It may be old and cramped, but it works for me. Pictures of my loving family line the walls, making it homey.

It’s comforting in some ways to still see my parents’ faces. I talk to them about my day, like people talk to their plants.

All my furniture is second-hand except for a few antique pieces I got from my parents. I have a T.V., but I prefer to read over watching it. There’s something satisfying about getting lost in the world of my mind, and a good novel calms me more than watching paid actors.

I clean up the living room and straighten the books on my shelf. Having just finished a spicy romance during dinner, I smile, remembering the end. The final steamy moment has me wanting to get in the tub for a long soak and some much-needed self-care.

I’m walking that way when a heavy knock startles me to a halt. A familiar voice follows the loud bang. My grin fades upon hearing its demands.

“Lola, turn off the fucking racket and open up,” my boyfriend yells through the door.

I wasn’t expecting Nathan after canceling dinner tonight. I stand firm because he’s been drinking. My teeth grind at the loud pounding on the wood, wishing he didn’t show up.

“Baby, I’m not that drunk. Now let me in!”

I scoff and can tell he’s lying through a liquored haze of mumbles. Nathan used to be a much better boyfriend, loving and kind, even generous with compliments. But over the last year, he started drinking and became more aggressive with how he treats me.

He’s not that bad if sober, but I don’t know what to expect daily. There are the occasional good moments, but sadly I put up with the bad, so I’m not alone. I hate being by myself and stuck in my head.

I shake that off, taking too long to move. The last thing I want to do is make Nathan angry. I take a deep breath to try to calm my nerves, but my hand betrays me trembling as I do what he says. With a heavy heart, I click off my music and go to unlock the door.

“About fucking time, babe,” he slurs, bumping into the door frame.

“Be careful,” I say while he stumbles into my apartment.

Nathan’s tan and toned body makes me wish his attitude fit his good looks. His otherwise handsome face is dark with three-day stubble, and his mahogany brown hair is a mess. He’s always running his fingers through it when exasperated. I might be happier if I didn’t always have to deal with him being a drunkard.

He’s larger than me, six foot two, and extraordinarily strong for a construction worker. My muscles strain, supporting Nathan’s weight as he pushes against me. He’s much heavier when drunk, making it harder for me to stay upright. Yet he can still find the energy to grope me.

I feel myself boil inside, struggling to get him to stop rubbing me. The smell of his liquored breath is revolting as he kisses my nape. This scenario happens more than I care to admit, and I hate it.

Looking towards my family photos on the wall behind him, they’d be disappointed in me. It’s sad to say I would agree. I’m ashamed of allowing this to happen and grateful those I love aren’t here to see it.

“I hope you didn’t drive here,” I mumble.

“So what? I came to see you,” he stammers through kisses.

Of course, Nathan thinks that makes this special. It just makes him stupid for always driving here drunk. He missed dinner to hang out with a buddy, and that pisses me off. I gather my strength to get him off me. I shimmy free with some force and take a step back.

“I’ll get you some water,” I offer, patting him on the chest.

I fix my clothes while walking over to the kitchen. After filling a cup with a clenched jaw, I returned to the hall, not knowing what to expect.

Nathan stares between me and the cup. I hold it to him weakly, unable to find my words because of his menacing look. He shakes his head and angrily whacks it out of my hand, flinging water on everything but him. The water pools at my feet, making it difficult not to slip.

“I didn’t ask for that. I want my girl,” he snarls, pulling me close.

Nathan roughly tangles his fingers in my hair. He brings my face flush with his, and I only see his puckered lips. I turn to the side, avoiding contact. He smells rancid, planting sloppy kisses on my cheeks and neck as I try to escape.

“Please stop. You smell bad. Go clean yourself-” I start, but Nathan slaps me before I finish.

“What did you fucking say, Lola?” he slurs, pushing me to the wall in a hurry scaring me.

Nathan’s hand pinches my cheeks tight, pulling my mouth open with his hold. The stinging vibrates through my teeth. They begin to dig into my cheek, filling my mouth with the taste of iron, terrifying me.

He’s staring me down with those haunting hazel eyes and a twitching upper lip. While the pressure on my jaw keeps me pinned, I can still talk. But I’m afraid to say anything, only heaving in pain.

“Stop,” I gasp beneath him, “you’re hurting me.”

Nathan only sneers, tightening his grip. I panic, knowing he’s angry with me for nothing again, smacking me hard a few times to make me listen.

“You don’t tell me what to do, you useless bitch,” Nathan squeezes my jaw harder.

He fumbles, striking me a few more times to enforce his point. My face is flushed and hot, burning with each impact. Sad tears are spilling over, making it hard to focus on him or anything else.

“Can you hear me now, Lola,” he slaps my face again.

I’m not answering, only trying to overpower him by grabbing his wrist. He let my cheeks go and quickly seized my arm, forcing it to the wall and making my wrist pop loudly.

I cry to be free, but I am held tighter. My muscles are on fire under his hold. The pain takes over, and I’m blinded with tears. I can’t fight back now,  trying would be pointless, and I slump in defeat.

“Yes, I hear you,” I say, cowering before him, but Nathan refuses to let me go.

“For making me angry, you should be! Look what you made me do,” pointing to the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’ll clean it. Let me get a towel,” I beg.

“Later,” he sneers, making me retch from the smell of his breath again.

My wrist is screaming, he is furious, and I’m unsure which is worse. Nathan pulls my hair firmly, dragging me down the hall to the bedroom, while a few tears escape my eyes from the strain. I don’t fight it when Nathan throws me on the bed in the center of the room, disregarding where I land. The heavy weight of his body presses me to the mattress pinning me in a way I can’t move.

I stay silent as he mounts me and sloppily paws at my body, trying to get my clothes off. He takes forever being uncoordinated, but I tense up when hearing an unzipping sound. Looking at Nathan, his eyes are bloodshot and drooping while still working his clothes off. I gasp, feeling something on my leg and knowing what it is. His cock thumps excitedly and rubs between my thighs for friction.

“Fuck yes. I need this,” Nathan groans.

It saddens me. In his drunken state, he roughly attempts to remove my underwear but collapses on top of me before anything can happen. Relief washes over me as he passes out cold, breathing erratically. That serves him right for drinking too much.

I can easily roll him to the side, staring at my drunk boyfriend. I don’t bother to finish undressing him like I usually do. I don’t see the point tonight, as he’s halfway there already. I throw the blanket over him and kiss his forehead, hoping tomorrow is better.

It used to be that Nathan would bring home dinner, or we would watch a movie. I hope we eventually get back to that. I long for the days of his warm embrace, where he makes me feel beautiful. His massages are to die for, as I love feeling his gentle hands more than his rough ones.

These days it’s more about sex and ensuring I don’t upset him. I shake out my thoughts and silently go to the bathroom, grab a towel, and clean the water. The action makes my wrist ache, and I wince quietly to myself.

In the kitchen, icing my injury is painful, but I muddle through the discomfort. I keep it there for a while until it feels nice and numb. At least it’s not my writing hand; that’s a plus this time.

I clean myself in the bathroom, change my wet clothes, and slip into a cami and sleep shorts. Still feeling gloomy, I dig out my journal and sit on the tub’s edge, penning my thoughts to help me relax.

Work today was eventful, but my home life could use a spit shine. After being together for so long, Nathan must stop drinking. He flies off the handle so quickly, and I suffer. But what can I change about him?

He cancels dates often. Let’s hope he at least has a plan for our second anniversary. The first was something special. We took a road trip to a bed and breakfast, and he made love to me all weekend. I even got flowers and a teddy bear.

Is it wrong that was the last time I remember him being gentle? Nathan may be rough around the edges, but he tries sometimes. I still love him for that, even if I don’t always say it.

I hide my journal away under the sink. It’s my only friend knowing what I live through daily. No one has seen the truth about my life, and I want it to stay that way. I know things could be better, but I don’t know how to fix them. I brush my hair and teeth before returning to bed and cuddling with my boyfriend.

On the morning of Thursday, the 22nd

Starting the day like this is very routine. Nathan wakes in the morning and doesn’t even remember coming over, let alone our spat. He fumes with a hard smack that I let him sleep fully clothed. Again, I shrug it off, and that’s the saddest part of all this.

“Am I taking you to work?” Nathan yells and quickly gets up to shower.

“No, my shift isn’t till later,” I say, preparing his things.

Nathan only curses while running late for work, blaming me as usual for not setting the alarm. I make him a quick breakfast and coffee, but he’s unappreciative, leaving it on the counter. No kiss or sweet goodbye either, but he did aggravate my wrist by yanking it again.

Unable to take the pain anymore when he’s gone, I walk to the E.R. clinic two blocks away. The day is gorgeous, with no clouds in sight, but there is a chill in the air as autumn blooms. My feet carry me over the crunchy dead leaves; before I know it, the gray building comes into view.

This clinic is relatively new, built less than a year ago. I have come in for things like this before. Checking in at the front desk, the nurse wishes me a belated birthday, as I just turned twenty-five last Monday. After I fill out my medical history of broken bones and illnesses, I sit on a cold exam table.

The pale green walls and sterile saline smell make me wish I was anywhere but here. I hate having to come in because the bright lights illuminate everything. Thankfully, my face didn’t bruise because of last night’s tiff with Nathan.

When the doctor walks in, I tense up as he takes my vitals. The cuff constricts perfectly on a sore spot, and it’s uncomfortable.

“This swelling is pretty bad,” he says, looking over my arm. “How did it happen?”

“I fell and landed wrong,” another injury I have to explain away due to my fake clumsiness.

The doctor gently tries to rotate my hand, but a sudden stabbing pain shoots to my elbow. A whimper escapes me. I yank my hand from the doctor’s grasp. He then goes to the medical cabinet while shaking his head.

“It’s not broken,” he says, grabbing something black and returning. “This should be worn most of the day, especially if you’re working. Please don’t wear it to sleep. Also, try not to test your limits with your daily routine,” he instructs, fitting my arm with a removable cast.

“Yes sir, I know the drill,” I mumble, having been here a few times, both the clinic and the sprain.

“I want to see you back in two weeks, if possible. Ibuprofen will work for the minor pains and swelling,” he continues instructing while the Velcro crunches into place.

My wrist has been aching since it happened, and I can’t do my job if it hurts. The brace feels snug and restricts my movements, but I know it’s for the best.

“Thank you, doctor. I’ll make a follow-up appointment,” I say, scowling at my arm.

“Also, Miss Angelos, if deeper bruising occurs, come in much sooner, and I can do an x-ray free of charge,” he offers, pointing to my hand.

I’m speechless and don’t know how expensive those are, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. The doctor scribbles a few things in my chart and passes me a note with everything we discussed.

“Do you have any questions? Or do you need to divulge anything, like who might have done this?” the doctor asks more pointedly, making me pause.

Again, it’s not my first visit here. This doctor constantly questions if I feel safe at home. He’s seen me personally a few times. There is knowing in those eyes as he sees through my fib, and I can’t stand it.

“No sir, and thank you again,” I said, trying to avoid his glare.

I get skittish and stutter if anyone presses me too long, so I stick to the basics, pawning it off as I did it to myself. As a professional, he’s concerned, and I hide my shame with a fake smile. His persistence makes me nervous. It might be time to find a new clinic.

I exit the room quickly to avoid any more unwanted inquiries. Checking out has me fumbling not to be nervous, and the brace is getting in the way, making it difficult to work inside my tiny purse. Finally digging out my wallet, I pay the nurse and make my follow-up appointment.

These clinic visits are expensive. Thankfully, my brother Leon gave me money for my birthday. His generosity helps; now I have enough for bills. I would thank him, but then I would be forced to explain the situation, and I can’t do it without admitting I’m a fool.

Walking the two blocks back home gives me time to listen to music and shake the clinic encounter from my mind. My shift starts at four; it’s only eleven. I have plenty of time to relax and get ready.

After a long hot shower, I feel refreshed and prepared for the day. I dry my brown locks, which smell like strawberries, to the beat of more music. My wrist screams at the gestures making me wince.

I must carefully pin my hair up, as the Velcro keeps snagging it. Adding a hair-net snood that matches my clothes is tricky, but I managed. After my triumphant hair success, I grab my classic diner uniform, which I love.

It’s a cute crimson dress with checkerboard accents along the collar, cuff hems, and apron. It makes my green eyes pop, making me look adorable. Not that Nathan ever says or notices.

As a precaution, I put on my black arm protectors, which conceal bruises well, but are more designed to handle the heat of the plates I carry. Regardless, I finished the look by adding my new wrist brace again. These items are in no way flattering, but they are needed.

I even remember to take some pain medicine before heading out, barely catching the bus and sitting alone for the ride. The traffic is light, making it to the diner on time to lock up my purse.

Remembering how late I get off tonight, I scoff. I hate asking for rides, but buses don’t run late at night, and car services are too costly. I take out my phone and text Nathan. He agrees to pick me up later. I only hope he’s in a better mood tonight.

Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I put on a chipper smile and clock in. Looking over my section, everyone greets me hello as they see me. I respond to my co-workers with a smile and start my shift.