The Fight Part 2

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Crunching me into the wall with the door, he made his way in. “Get out of here! You’re going to get out of this house right now, I don’t ever want you here! Get up! Get up now, Andrea!” His anger grabbed both of my arms yanking me upwards. I let all of my body weight fall so he couldn’t. But with all of that fire and determination he managed. I never had seen anyone like this. I couldn’t believe not only how angry he was, but what anger can get a person to do. You can turn into something I can’t explain, something mightier, if you will. His hands underneath my elbows, I’d made it to a standing position. “NO, DON’T!” I said. He mocked me. “You’re going to get out of this house and I’m going to make you get out if I have to!” He shouted.  And I remember thinking, jesus, I want out…I need out. What am I doing here? I’m finally getting what I wanted, I’d put up with him long enough, and now he wants me to leave, it’s the perfect remedy for the most imperfect couple. We were like a walking divorce. Today, I just put him off into one of the bad symptoms of my depression. He belonged in a category of stuff I guess I had to go through that I would’ve never have decided on unless my mind frame was in the condition it was in then. “You’re going home back to your parents, Andrea!” Too scared to realize he was still giving me exactly what I’d wanted…I just needed a ticket out. But I grew up in a world where you only marry once, and I was determined to punish myself for making this mistake, and at the same time to make the most out of it. So with each day, I looked at it as the marriage I wanted it to be, not the marriage that it was. When I was 6 my mom cheated on my dad with my swim coach and watching my parents go through that hell, is something I can’t explain. But they made it through regardless, and now they’re like soulmates. But my mom would ask me when I was a kid if she should get a divorce, and I’d tell her exactly how I *ahem, sort of, felt. Basically, I took the political road and told her, “This has to do with your husband, not my father.” But the truth is I wanted to tell her to get a divorce. Hell, all they did was fight. Everyone’s temper was incessantly on the ‘on’ button, I hated it. But either way, they made it through, and I was determined to make this one through as well.

I gripped the door frame as he kneed me in the back. He had to knee me I guess because at the same time he was using his hands to uncurl my fingers from the frame. I gripped tighter. “NO!” I mustered out, crying so heavily by this point and too scared to make a sentence. “Yes!” He exclaimed. “You’re out of here, bitch!””You’re going to your real home, where you’ve wanted to go back to all along!” And albeit I did, for some reason I couldn’t think of going home and admitting to a failure to one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I don’t believe that we make too many mistakes in life, because everything we do has some intent to it. It’s when regret comes into play that we call them mistakes, but we meant to do them in the first place so it doesn’t really make sense. You either regret or you don’t. You either screw up or you don’t. But a mistake one does not make when purpose is attached.

One by one, my fingers were getting peeled off, and as I’d try to re-grip them on, eventually I lost as his knee and other hand grew stronger with each breath. Once he had me all peeled away, I felt both hands on my back, thrusting me out the door with two shoves. I’d tripped over the step at the front door, making me take two steps outside the door leaving me hunched over. I could still hear him. “There, now get the fuck out of here, bitch!” I went to turn back to the door, and he slammed it inches away from my head turning to look back at him. Here I was in a city I hadn’t a clue about, so so far, away from home.

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