He had decided to make her dinner. Spaghetti Bolognese. It wasn’t the most a la carte dish, but it was by far the most perfected in his culinary arsenal. He had just finished straining the spaghetti, enjoying the warm atmosphere that comes from such activities, when the front door slammed shut.
She skulked into the kitchen, weary, defeated, hair ruffled and plopped her bag onto the tiled floor of the kitchen.
“Hey babe,” he said, all smiles and cheers with his head stuck in the nether regions of the fridge. “I decided to make you dinner. You sounded a little down when I spoke to you at lunch, so I thought; I know what will bring a smile to that face of yours...spaghetti...”
“Bolognese” she said, completing his sentence and choking back her disgust at his predictability.
“How did you know?” he exclaimed.
Her lethargic demeanour vanished and she grabbed her bag with force, turned and left the kitchen and made her way upstairs, her feet and the beige carpet bearing the brunt of her frustrations. She shoved the door of their bedroom, threw her bag onto the bed and soon joined it.
He carried on preparing the dish in the warmth of the kitchen, grating cheese, adding basil and parsley to the simmering contents on the stove, all the while, his face blank, his heart empty and his mind confused. HE had made a gesture and SHE had stormed off, bloated on her own self-importance, totally oblivious to him. “This is nonsense” he thought. He turned the stove down and marched out of the kitchen, up the stairs and with great vigour headed towards their bedroom.
He saw her, sitting on the bed, body arched, head down. His anger melted at the sight of her. Her, dressed in black, sitting so defenceless and void of strength. He daren’t enter for fear of intruding. Instead he peered into the room and gazed at the woman he loved, the woman whom he was subject to.
She had her head clutched in her hands and was crying, silent tears of despair. She looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror opposite. Massacre trickled down her cheeks, leaving a black trail of tears and regret, the souvenirs of a woman in pain, a desperate individual with options but without the conviction to act on them.
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