Cigarette, Chapter 3

“You asshole.” She spits.
“That’s me.”
“You fucking asshole.” Emphasising each word.
“Nice to meet you.” I mutter.
We’re back in my place, Jimmy is passed out, and Sarah is screaming at me.
“I can’t believe you.” I get up off the sofa and move towards the bedroom, I need to lie down. She follows me and just keeps fucking going.
“I cannot fucking believe you.” Again, spitting every word out with tangible venom.

I collapse onto our bed and take off my tie, my jacket, and start undressing.
“What have I done now?” I sigh.
“It’s not what you have done; it’s what you haven’t done!” What?
“What?”
“You’re impossible!” She takes off a shoe and throws it at me. I dodge it and it knocks my alarm clock onto the floor. It remains intact because I throw it at the wall every morning and it’s used to abuse.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about honey.” I genuinely don’t. Maybe Jimmy is right about my skills with the opposite sex. She throws the other shoe.
“Shut up! You never listen.”
“No no, I do. I just don’t understand a fucking word you say.” I retort, then she does a mock imitation of my voice, I hate when she does that.
“Shut up, you’re giving me a headache.” I spit. She throws her panties at me.
“Wha-“ I start, but she jumps on me and interrupts me with a kiss. We have sex. After 6 years I still can’t understand this relationship. At least I didn’t have to buy her anything this time.

I wake up in the middle of the night, we’re both naked on top of the sheets and she’s curled up against me, and it seems like the only time her face isn’t crumpled up in a mask of rage is when she’s asleep. When she’s asleep she is still beautiful. I gently move her off me and walk into the kitchen to get a drink; Jimmy is sitting awake on the sofa, sobbing quietly into his hands. I pretend not to notice him and I go back to bed. I lie beside Sarah and try to cuddle her but she turns away from me. I can’t get back to sleep, and I watch the sun rise and the shadows dance across the room.

***

Behind my desk at work, I think about the score Jimmy was talking about and wonder if I really want to get involved in this kind of nonsense again. I stare out the window and let my mind drift to the old days. It’s windy and raining and everything looks grey in that special way that only Britain can manage. My missing middle finger makes my right hand cast a stupid looking shadow that always pisses me off.
“Knock, knock!” I jump in my seat and spin around slowly on it. It’s my boss, the head honcho, standing at my door.

“Knock, knock!” He says again. He’s one of those annoying people who say knock instead of knocking. I’m sure you know the type.
“What is it sir?” I try to look interested and eager to help.
“Dave, Dave, Dave…” He trails off, bouncing into the room and sitting on the corner of my desk. He’s quite a hefty guy so it creaks in protest.
“Davey, Davey, Davey Boy…” I wait patiently through this, flipping him the bird with one hand under my desk.
“Sir?”
“Dave…” While staring out the window.

“Jesus, what do you want?” I barked. He sighed deeply and looked at me pleadingly.
“There it is again David, your anger problem.” Running his hands through what was left of his stupid hair.
“I don’t have an anger problem.” I was starting to get angry. The wind drove the rain against the window ever harder and the noise was getting on my nerves.
“David…”
“Dave.”
“Dave… please, we all know. Ever since…” He gestured towards my hands that were now resting on the desk, trying very hard not to strangle him, and especially towards my missing finger.
“Since that, and since you quit smoking.” I did both at the same time. The two incidents are related but I don’t want to talk about it.

“I want you to make an appointment to see someone.” He says solemnly.
“What do you mean, see someone?” My eyes narrowed. I hope he wasn’t getting at what I think he was getting at. He sighed and stood up, and starting pacing around my office. The creaky floorboard squealed under his bulk and I imagined him crashing through the floor.

“I mean like, a therapist Dave. Someone who can help!” I looked at him and I could tell he was serious. I tried to count to ten before I responded, it was a tip I had read somewhere. Maybe I did have a problem, Jesus.
“I don’t need… to see anyone.”
“But you do.”
“I do not… have an anger problem.”
“Dave, you’re digging your nails into your desk.”

Whoops.