Found this story I wrote when I was younger in an ancient folder.
When you lie there all fucked-out on a hot day like that you don’t have any strength left. You don’t want anything bad to happen. You think, god, if anything bad were to happen I would just break. I can’t deal with it.
I work a lot of nights weekdays and this was Saturday. We’d been fucking since 4 AM. Now the sun was up and we were lying there and I could barely move my arm. I watched it twitch and I smiled at how dumb it was, trying to reach for that glass of water, when I knew I hadn’t any nerves left in this body. Sleep was rolling in to wrap me up.
He started yelling. He stood up and started yelling. Why he would start yelling I have no idea. We’d just had sex. He’d just been inside me and I thought we were both very tired.
He went over to the window and lifted it up and started yelling with his head outside. I croaked, stop, trying to prop myself up, all that gentle warm sex sweat turning cold and itchy.
He walked around the room knocking things down, clearing the nightstand, dresser, desk, my glass of water broke clean in two pieces and splashed all over my night class binder. He hit my mirror until his hand was bloody, he smashed it on the dresser so shards went flying every way. My laundry basket, my clothes were full of glass.
He stomped around yelling and it would not end. Outside a woman was yelling shut up in that ugly strident tone of voice people use. I couldn’t believe a car alarm was going off but it was going off at the same time this was all happening. I felt like a plane would crash through the ceiling or something.
I told him in my normal tone of voice to be quiet. Hate seeing women who hang off their man’s shoulder and beg him to stop in that beaten little voice while he freaks out–I wasn’t going to get excited or beat down or be anything but cool and composed. Anyways he wasn’t my man, he was just a friend and we did things together.
He yelled and yelled and someone was banging on the floor and I heard windows opening across the street. I stood up and put on a pair of track pants, missing the leg the first time. I couldn’t stand for him to see my cunt when he was so ugly and yelling like this. I asked him to stop two more times. He was yelling and he had pulled everything off all the surfaces and now he was in the bathroom pulling the mirror off with a snap then a crash and pulling all my shit out the cabinet and pulling at the shower rod. It snapped loose and he threw it on the floor and kicked his way ridiculously through that big translucent curtain like he was tangled in a sail and he grabbed my shampoo and went to the window.
Believe me, if this were his apartment or on the street I would have just walked away. But this was my abode, this was the closest tightest space I could call my own, and I had nothing else. You can’t throw a person out of the world.
The shampoo spattered open on the street throwing goopy white on the sidewalk like someone dropped a milkshake. He ran past me to the bed and started dragging the mattress off. I sat on the edge of the bathtub and took each ring off the shower rod and pulled the curtain into the bathtub and stood there squinting at him with his big red back to me straining at the mattress. The mattress thumped off the bed and he started getting it through the window, wrestling and screaming with the mattress trying to get it all scrunched up like a taco. I raised the shower rod up like a javelin and dropped the tip into his spine as hard as I could. His arms flapped ridiculously around him like he was a bird for one second and then he rolled onto the mattress, which was still folded up and trying to unfold itself so it slowly pushed him off and he rolled onto the floor with a slam that rattled the bits of broken glass scattered across the room. He didn’t look like he could use his spine much because of what I did to it, his neck was very taut and white and I could see every tendon straining as he choked on his yells and started to say something.