You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
Opening lyrics to the song Kiss With A Fist (Is Better Than None) by Florence and the Machine.
Relationships are wondrous things and there are plenty of song that reflect them. I can quote a lot of songs I have heard that remind me of moments in my current relationship, but none more so than Kiss With A Fist.
With three bottles of beer, half a bottle of good ol' Jack Daniels and some Brown Brother's wine under his belt, my partner, who shall remain anonymous, became unbearable.
I am typing from my sister's laptop at the moment, my make-up stains now gone from my face, my lashes sticking together, my $370 outfit (that I bought for my partner and my twelve month anniversary dinner) completely ruined. I have pains virtually everywhere, complimented by beautiful, yellow - blue bruises that are gradually getting darker. I have a bag of frozen peas taped to my right wrist which makes typing insanely slow for me.
I was raised with three older siblings, two brothers and a sister. My mother comes from a family of six children, and her mother, my grandmother, comes from a family with fourteen children including herself. I can hold my own in a fight. I didn't expect to have to do that, though, with the man who claims loves me.
We had had a lovely evening. Red roses, crystal gasses, a delicious three course meal prepared by the fantastic chef at our favorite restaurant, a nice walk at sunset along the beach. When we arrived home, things went downhill.
He took his jacket off and dumped it on the ground, followed by his socks. I asked very nicely, not wanting to spoil the mood after the evening, if he was going to pick those items up off the floor. He responded no, so I said that I wasn't going to pick them up so they could stay there until he picked them up.
Turning around, a look of thunder, I was scared of him. For the first time, I was truly scared of him. And all I had done, was first ask a simple question. He called me a lazy whore. A whore. A lazy whore, at that! Me, who returns home every day, who cleans and cooks, does all the housework. Everything. Am I not entitled to take a break?
Since when does saying "you can do it yourself" turn a girl into a lazy whore? I don't see the logic.
After this comment, of course I was rattled. I asked him what he meant and, to add fuel to the flame, he just started to let out a string of curses at me, nasty words that hurt my feelings. I stepped closer to him and I told him to forget about the incident, that I would clean up, he should just go sit down and cool off before something happened that couldn't un-happen. Then, I touched his cheek and he slapped my hand away, then slapped my face.
I tell you, the gorgeous mahogany side table that we had pushed into the wall, the crystal vase my great-great grandmother gave me shattered into a gazillion pieces. My cheek was stinging, I was only just managing to stay on my feet. I put my hand on my cheek and I looked up at him.