Some days it would settle down. I’d assure myself that she would return. Maybe she’d see that those words weren’t truly mine - that I didn’t mean them. I didn’t think so low of her. She’d realize they came from a place of self-hatred and disgust. I was a man hovering dangerously close to some proverbial rock bottom. She loved to sing - how would she feel about the world around her if her voice was suddenly and violently taken away? Eventually the sting of what I’d said would fade, and she would see - provided that Patrick didn’t continuously poison her against me.
Other days the regret flared up like an infection. It would physically hurt and nearly bring me to my knees. I told my pregnant girlfriend that she’d be a terrible mother. I accused her of cheating. I got shit-faced and let my fear and anger run my mouth.
The memory made me nauseous.
Going stir crazy certainly didn’t help matters.
