“This is your fault! I don’t know why you’re hiding. You want a fucking argument! Admit it!”
His words are exactly the same as the ones he gave me before we left our apartment.
Running across the hall, I throw my weight against the bedroom door. Keeping myself firm to the ground, I attempt to keep it closed as the handle twists. The metal digs into my back as the door opens an inch before my weight pushes back against it again.
The heavy thud of Shane’s weight on the other side sends me flying, the door coming off the top hinge and twisting until the bottom one breaks free also.
I scoot back on the ground, the carpet burning me.
Shane stomps in, a pretty floral dress scrunched in his hand.
“I only said I couldn’t wear it.”
“No, you said we could stay in, but I’m sick of staying in.”
“Then I said I’d come if I could wear a hoodie.”
“Because you’re so fucking ungrateful. The dress isn’t good enough!” The dress barrels towards me, the shape and speed making it hit much harder in my stomach.
“It’s not baggy enough,” I cough out through tears. “I can wear my satin one.”
“No, Lancie, you’ll look like an idiot. Dressed up for a night out while having a casual dinner with my parents. Don’t makea fucking fool of us.” Shane’s foot slams into the wall, a small dent appearing on the first hit.
The dent grows when his sneaker meets it again, the crack spreading up the wall.
“You don’t have to be like this! Calm down.”
“Calm down?This is your fault! I don’t know why you’re hiding. You want a fucking argument! Admit it!”
I sit silently, pulling the dress out of the ball that leaves it with hundreds of creases.
Maybe I can make it work… to keep the peace.
“Admit it!” he shouts, kicking the wall again.
Cream-colored plaster flakes onto the carpet.
“ADMIT IT, LANCIE!”
“It’s my fault we’re arguing. I’m sorry.” I tremble and sniffle. My sleeve acts as a much-needed tissue. The snot shines under the bright lights as I hold the dress a little higher. “I’ll wear it. I’m sorry. I’ll wear it, and we’ll have a nice dinner with your parents.”
I blink back to the here and now, to the noise in my room as Shane kicks at the bed like a crazy person.
I turn toward the disruption, and as if he feels my eyes on him, he spins my way.
His breath hits me in the face before his hands clutch my hair. The frosting I’ve yet to wash out makes him cringe.
“Frosting? Why the fuck would you have frosting in your stupid pink hair?” He pulls out strands from the roots by the dozen.
My fingers move to my head and the bald spot I now likely have. Yes, I can feel my scalp.
This is your punishment.I hear my mother’s voice, but it’s impossible to see her with Shane’s face so close to mine.
Even as I try to move, he’s with me, nose bumping mine.
“I was making a cake.”
“And you got it all up in your hair?”
