Son of a- There it was again! He was doing it again. Like he was doing it on purpose to irritate her. And damn it to hell, it was working!
"Nothing," she answered too fast, staring at her plate. She willed herself to calm down. They were sitting at the same table, which was as close as they'd been in days. She didn't want to open that can of worms.
"Something's bothering you," he stated, still eating.
"Just forget about it." She hadn't touched her food. Who could eat? Drew. Drew could eat. Look at him. Sitting there… Eating. And making that damnable noise! Over and over and over and- "Hic!" She rolled her eyes, looking away. Damn hiccups. She put her fork back down. She couldn't eat anyway, she was too upset.
He did it again.
"It's that noise!" she blurted. "That little noise you make-"
"I still don't-"
"Through your nose when you're eating," she continued, ignoring him. "I've been listening to it for years and it drives me crazy!"
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice too sweet. He raised his hands in mock surrender, "I won't eat. I'll starve."
"Oh, don't start pouting!" He was a grown man, for Christ's sake! He had no right to pout. "Hic- I hate that!"
"I hate your hiccups," he countered.
"I can't help it!"
"And I can't help my nasal thing! And while we're at it, you leave streaks."
"I what?" What in the hell? Where was this coming from. That surprised her. She stared, dumbfounded, waiting for an elaboration.
"The windows you washed."
"When did you become so meticulous?"
"When you became so sloppy," he answered.
He nodded, "Yeah. All those old magazines? We're running outta closet space."
"My magazines are no worse than your crumbs!" She even said the word with disgust. God, those damn crumbs drove her crazy too! They were always digging into her skin when she tried to sleep.
"Oh, you eat in bed, too," he went back to his plate, clearly thinking she was running out of steam.
"Every night?!" she demanded, leaning across the table. "Popcorn, cookies, and that nasal chewing?!"
"Well," he started, an angry grin on his face. "We could do something else in bed, but I've forgotten how!"
"You've forgotten how to try too!" she yelled back.
"Oh," he pushed back his plate again, starting to stand up. "I don't have to listen to this."
She was on her feet before he was, pushing herself towards him. No way was he getting away so easily when they'd finally started to let it all out. "No! Let it out. Let it all out, Drew! There's no kids, no excuses!" She was gesticulating wildly now, the Italian in her finally coming out after having been cooped up for so long.
"Alright, I'm mad! I'm mad that I've lived for forty-five years and this is all it comes down to!" he yelled, his volume growing now to match hers. She rolled up her sleeves, channeling her anger, as he continued. "Frozen foods, name-calling, and window streaks! Nothing makes me happy and nothing makes you happy!"
"Tell me what's to be happy about!"
"Oh, so in other words, you'd be happier without me!?"
She shrank back a little at that, her voice coming out without anger this time, "You said that, not me!"
"I care about this family! Before anything else, I care!" he yelled, his height giving him a slight advantage. He was gesturing wildly now, too, her Italian 'talking with her hands' having rubbed off on him after so many years.
"And I don't?! Is that it?!"
How dare he? How dare he even imply it! She'd given everything for this family. She could've been huge in the theater. Libby Dean played second fiddle to no one. She could've-would've- been a star.
"SAY IT!" she screamed up at him, her arms shaking with her anger.
Her palm connected solidly with his cheek before she even realized it. She hit him. She'd hit the bastard. …. And it felt good.
She raised her hand, moving to strike him again but he caught her wrist. His fingers dug into her skin and she looked up at him, her plump lips set in a hard line of defiance as though daring him to try anything. She pulled, not really trying to get away so much as testing his strength, but he held fast.
Well, she was nothing if not adaptable. Sure, she wasn't left-handed, but she'd make do. She raised her left hand and he caught that too, as though anticipating her move. She was breathing heavily now, her body shaking, and she wasn't sure if she was about to cry or scream.
"Andrew," she warned, her voice deathly low.
"Elizabeth," he returned, that same angry smirk on his features.
They dove at the same time, their lips meeting in a hard, hungry kiss. He pushed her backward and she growled against his mouth when her back collided painfully with the counter.
"You're so irritating," she murmured, her nails digging through his shirt and into his biceps when he released her wrists to run his hands eagerly down her sides.
"You don't care about our family," he countered, hiking her oversized shirt up until his fingers met her bare stomach. He pushed her hips back against the counter, trying to push her buttons now.
She nearly snarled in response, pushing him back until she heard his back collide with the stove with a loud thump. "That's a lie!" She curled her fingers in his shirt around his neck. "I care as much as you do!"
"You're not home to care as much as I do," he pulled at her top in fistfuls, hiking it up before finally pulling it over her head and dropping it next to him.
Her rich brown eyes, narrowed in anger and she ran her hands under his shirt, digging her nails into his skin, as she pushed it up. She wanted to hurt him as badly as he'd hurt her. She pulled his shirt over his head, forcing his hands from where they'd been playing at the elastic of her pants, and discarded it behind her.
"That's my fault!? Someone has to support this family," she ran her teeth down his neck before biting into his shoulder. She could taste the coppery tang of blood, its flavor assaulting her. She'd made him bleed. Her hands fell to his belt, clawing until the buckle came free. "And since you can't anymore-"
"I can't do much of anything right anymore, can I?!" he interrupted, running his hands back up her sides and then over her back, pushing the straps of her bra down before letting his fingers descend on the hooks.
"You can't even do this right," she snapped, both of them knowing what she was referring to. It was a low blow, blaming him for their sex life. But, to be fair, she hadn't orgasmed the last five or six times they'd gone at it.
He growled this time, pain and anger flashing in his eyes, before pushing at her pants and panties until they slid down to her ankles. He lifted her, slamming her down on the table before pulling at her bra and throwing it behind him. He ran his teeth over her collarbone, his teeth scraping just enough to hurt but not leave a mark.
She gasped when he pushed into her, her head lolling back instinctively. "Oh, G-" She bit her lip against the pain, closing her eyes. She dug her nails back into his shoulder, trying to draw more blood.
God, it hurt, this stretching… But it felt so good. Her mouth open and closed, searching for words, as he thrust roughly into her.
"Am I doin' it right, yet?" he demanded, his fingers pushing into her hips as he pulled her hips back to meet his.
She gasped noiselessly, arching, before forcing out a pant. No, she would not give in first. "No. Be a real man," she gasped out. "Harder." She cried out when he thrust back into her.
"Is that what you want? You want me to hurt you?" He sounded half-skeptical, half interested. That might be what he really wanted after all. To hurt her, to make her cry out that way. She almost sounded like a wounded bird, her half-whimpered screams.
"That's all you wanna do anymore anyway," she panted, looking up at him. "You wanna hurt me? Do it."
He grimaced, pulling her left leg up until he was able to drape her knee over his shoulder. "Is this why you're always late? Are you doing this with Jerry?"
He didn't. He wouldn't. He'd just accused her of cheating. She narrowed her eyes, digging the nails of her right hand into his shoulder again until she could feel blood pooling under her nails. "At least he would make me finish, not just roll over after a minute and a half!" she growled back. If he was going to hit below the belt, then she would too.
"Is that a fact?" he grimaced, pushing harder and deeper into her and forcing the very breath from her lungs.
"Just- a guess," she panted, breathing hard. "He's- always been- more of a- man- than you." She threw her left hand behind her head, clawing at the wooden table through the table cloth as she cried out again.
She was suddenly very aware that she was naked on their kitchen table. Naked. And being fucked by her husband. Their children ate at this table. Corky, Becca, Paige, Nicky-well, Nicky didn't eat so much as sit in someone's arms. But sometimes he tried to chew on it. And she was… A terrible mother.
"Drew, stop," she forced out before biting her lower lip. But, God, it felt so good.
"Are you gonna cum, Lib?"
She hated when he spoke that way. Dirty talk… It made her-
"Fuck!" she whimpered, tears filling her eyes. "No, Drew. Stop. We- we have t-to… Oh, God…Deeper!"
"You're an emasculating bitch," he pushed into her harder, the fingers of his left hand roaming up her side before groping at her heaving breasts.
"You're a- chauvinistic- asshole," she countered, panting hard and arching against him. "Oh, God- Fuck, Drew!"
"You moan like this for Jerry?" he grimaced.
Fine. If that's the way he wanted it, "Louder," she gasped. "Cause- he's a- real man. And he- fucks me- like a- real man, too."
"Bends me over his desk," she interrupted, "and fucks me and makes me writhe and gasp and scream until I cum around his hard cock."
They both knew she was lying, but it pissed him off anyway. "Whore," he spat before moving his fingers between their bodies. Oh, he'd make her cum. Over and over, that bitch.
"Impotent d- Ahhh- FUCK!" she wailed when he pushed against her clit, moving his thumb roughly over it.
He smiled in angry satisfaction when he felt her muscles clench hard around him as she whimpered and screamed. He pushed harder into her even as she came against him, her body instinctively trying to drive him out.
"Stop!" she panted desperately, her lungs feeling overworked and starved for air. "Drew, stop."
"Doesn't Jerry make you cum like this? Or am I finally doing something right?"
"N-No more," she begged, tears filling her eyes. Her body arched against his as he continued moving. "I-I can't…"
"Jerry doesn't make you cum over and over?" he smirked, his voice teasing.
"Stop," she whimpered, her eyes tightly closed as she threw her head back and tried to sit up to push her chest against his.
He pushed her shoulders roughly back to the table, her head hitting the hard wooden surface and pounding in pain. He groped her roughly again, one hand at her waist the other going for her chest.
And just like that, she was that scared eighteen year old girl again, begging for it all to stop. Her body went cold and she stopped moving against him.
"No," she breathed.
"I said stop, Drew! God damn it! Get the hell off me!" she pushed him roughly away, tears filling her eyes.
She swallowed, scooting off the table and pulling her over-sized shirt over her head and backing away from him with her arms crossed in front of her. "Don't you dare touch me," she snapped when he stepped closer.
"Libby, what is your problem?! We were finally talking ab-"
"We weren't talking about anything. You were fucking me a table; the table our children eat at, Drew! Or am I the only one who cares about them?"
"Oh, get- Nicky doesn't even know who you are anymore!" he fired back, throwing his arms up angrily after fixing his belt.
That was a low blow. How dare he?! How dare he accuse her of not being around for their baby?! She carried him under her heart for nearly nine months.
She bit her tongue, forcing back tears. "Then I'm just sorry that little Nicky doesn't know either of his parents," she huffed.
"What?" he scoffed. "I'm with him all the time."
"And just what makes you so sure he's yours, Drew? I worked an awful lot of late nights before we found out I was pregnant," she said meaningfully.
They both knew it was a lie. But that didn't keep her from pursing her lips as she smirked. She stooped down, scooping up her pants and underwear before grabbing her bra. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to shower-touching you made my skin crawl- and then I have some very important work to do for Jerry." Her plump lips formed his name purposefully.
She strode defiantly from the room, taking the stairs two at a time before starting for their bedroom.
God, she just wanted to be alone. She felt nauseous. And like crying. And sleeping.
"Libby! Get back here! We are not done!" he marched after her, storming up the stairs. "Don't you walk away from me!"
Heaving a sigh, she shook her head, ignoring him. She threw her clothing into the laundry basket in their closet as she reached for her pajamas.
"Lib!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her to face him.
She pulled roughly out of his grasp, tumbling backward onto the bed.
He took a single step forward and she scrambled of the bed, nearly shaking. "I said don't touch me!" she screeched.
"Out! Get out!"
"You can't be serious! You're kicking me out again?"
She stepped back, an irrational fear gripping her, when he stepped toward her. "Get out," she repeated, her voice shaking with tears. She couldn't be strong anymore and fight them back. They were streaming down her cheeks, falling from her wide chocolate eyes.
"Lib," he reached out for her.
No. She wouldn't be that scared little girl again. Not again. She wouldn't.
She growled, pushing him away from her and out of their room with every ounce of strength she had left. Slamming the door, she locked it behind him before slumping to the floor and burying her face against her knees as she sobbed loudly.