Three Loving Words

by DC Renee

  “Huh?”

  “Why are you sitting at home doing nothing instead of living your life? Why aren’t you in school?”

  “How can I afford it?”

  “Um … last time I checked, your new father-in-law can afford to send you to school.”

  “No way, no how. I am not taking any money from them! It’s bad enough that I am using them for living and food, but that’s where it ends.” The vehemence in my voice had my sister putting her hands palms out in mock surrender.

  “All right, all right. I just thought you might as well take advantage of the situation at hand. But fine, I get it. How about loans? Financial aid?”

  “No one is going to give me financial aid when I’m married to Enzo.”

  “Okay, so get a job.”

  “What could I do with a high school education and no experience?”

  “I’ll help. We’ll find you a job. Besides, you can get personal loans if you just show some income. You can go to community college to save money and then work your ass off to get academic scholarships. If you do that, you can use the money you earn for yourself.”

  I had actually thought about these things several times, but it felt useless when I was by myself in my room. With Nora pushing me, it was starting to become something tangible, something I might actually be able to do.

  We talked for a while longer, and it had ended up being one of the best days in a long time. And she did help me find a job. A friend of a friend’s dad was looking for an administrative assistant. It wasn’t great pay and it was a little far from home, but I wasn’t picky. I took the job faster than he had a chance to offer it.

  The first day of work had actually been great. I had allowed myself to use some of Gerry’s money to buy some new clothes. I didn’t like doing it, but I only had a few items that would pass as business casual and I wanted to keep this job. Everything I got had been on sale and I knew the amount I spent would probably have been laughable to Gerry. I reasoned it was okay, even though deep down, I hated spending their money.

  Everyone had welcomed me and there was even a sweet lady in her sixties who had moved from the South. She called me “honey” and “darlin’” all day and took me under her wing. I hadn’t done much work that day as I spent most of the time trying to get acquainted with the company and the people. So all in all, it was good.

  I had actually been singing to myself all the way home, the tune still carrying as I walked into the house. I stopped short, though, when I saw Enzo sitting on the couch. His face was turned to me, shock written across his features. It felt kind of nice to know that I had surprised him, but it didn’t stop the lingering fears that still seeped into my pores even though he had kept his promise and didn’t touch me again.

  His eyes roamed every inch of my body. I felt naked and even lifted my hands as if to cover myself, but when I felt the safety of my clothes, I dropped them back down. His eyes made their way to mine and the anger in them was palpable.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” he sneered. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with my outfit. I had on a high-waist pencil skirt that went below my knees and a deep purple blouse with a very high neckline. I was dressed rather conservatively, in fact.

  “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” I asked, a touch of defiance covering my shaky voice.

  “Where in the hell have you been?” he asked. I didn’t understand why it even mattered. He barely noticed when I was around, and what I did with my time wasn’t his concern.

  “Answer me, dammit.” He slammed the TV remote down and stood up, causing me to jump back with a start.

  “I was at work,” I answered honestly, trying to calm my shaky nerves.

  “Since when in the hell do you work?” His voice was a touch of confusion and a whole lot of irritation.

  “Since today,” I shot back, not sure why he was making it such a big deal. I would be out of his hair even more. That should have pleased him, but he was so erratic, who in the hell knew with Enzo. The longer he stayed silent, the more I thought about it and decided that I didn’t like his line of questioning. It was my life! I was going to do whatever I wanted with whatever life I had left to live. If I wanted to scrape gum off chairs, then so be it, that was what I would do.

  He had made his way closer to me, and I instinctively backed up so my back was pressed against the door I had closed at some point. “Why in the hell do you need to work?” This time, the question sounded sincere.

  “To have an income.” I told him the truth.

  “Look around, little girl,” he said as he waved his hand around the house. “You don’t need an income. You have plenty of money.”

  “Correction. You have plenty of money and I’ve already used enough of it. Thank you very much for that. I’ll pay you and your family back when I can, but I make my own living.”

  “What in the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, getting in my face. “You wanted this! You made this happen, and now you don’t want it? What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I didn’t want this! I didn’t want any of it!” I screamed back, bringing my face closer to his.

  “Funny way of showing it, considering you married me!” he yelled back.

  “You married me, too!”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” he roared.

  “Neither did I!”

  We paused and looked at each other; our faces inches apart, both breathing hard, and I knew the fury in his eyes mirrored my own.

  “You’re not working,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Why not?” I asked indignantly.

  “Because …” He paused as if he was either looking for an answer or a way to put his thoughts into words. “Because even though this is all bullshit, I’m still the head of this household and that means I provide. You don’t work; I do.”

  “But you don’t work!” I retorted.

  “Because I don’t need to and I still provide,” he spoke calmly.

  “Newsflash, this isn’t the eighteen hundreds. Women work all the time; plenty of them are the breadwinners. I could work if I wanted to. And besides, you said it, this is all bullshit, so I don’t need you to provide.”

  “You’re not working,” he grated, his face so close to mine, I could feel the warmth of his breath caress my face.

  “I’m not taking your money,” I hissed back.

  “You’re taking it now,” he pointed out

  “I didn’t really have a choice. I’m not taking more than I have to.”

  “You’re not working,” he repeated.

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “You sure about that?” He laughed as he pulled his face back and studied mine.

  “No, Enzo,” I told him. “I’m not sure about anything in this life anymore, not since I married you.”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, no longer in my face.

  “It means this isn’t how my life was supposed to turn out, but I’m making the most of it. And one thing I always knew I was going to do was work. I was going to provide for myself. So you’re not going to stop me. Even if you rage at me every day, even if you tear me down like you love to, and even if you show up at my work and make a scene, it won’t make a difference to me. I’m going to work.” I paused, but he didn’t have a response.

  “This is good for both of us. We’ll be out of each other’s hair, which means less conflict. And I need to keep myself occupied. You have your, er, extracurricular activities.” His scowl turned into a smile, and if his smile was any indication, I was sure I blushed a million shades of red. “I don’t have any. This is my one activity, so you’re going to let this be.”

  We were both silent for two excruciatingly painful and long minutes, where I watched him smirking and examining my face. For what? No clue. Maybe getting a feel for how serious I was about this? Trying to gauge how much I’d fight him on this if I had to.

  His silence unnerved me, but I wasn’t sure what else
to say, what else to do. In my mind, this conversation was over, but I had nowhere to really go. It was not as if I could escape him, so I stayed in this tension-filled silence. Finally, he simply said, “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I asked, completely dumbfounded.

  “Yeah, you speak English?” He chuckled as if I had asked the most stupid question. “I said okay. If anyone asks, you tell them that you got bored sitting at home. It’s a hobby. Whatever excuse you want, but if you tell them it’s because you’re providing for yourself, I’ll make you regret this.” He turned and left. Even when he was “nice,” he was an ass. I sighed in relief. At least, he wasn’t going to fight me on this. Step one in my path to being independent was complete. Next, it was time to work on getting into school.

  Six

  Enzo

  When Paige wasn’t around, she got under my skin because I was wondering what in the hell she was up to. When she was around, she got under my skin with her feisty attitude. When she was next to me, she got under my skin with the way she flinched away from me. It was unnerving; it made me feel like something that I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t a bad guy. I had my way of living. It made some people look at me differently, but that was my life and it didn’t make me a monster. I did one thing I wasn’t proud of, one thing that I didn’t want to think about, but that didn’t make me evil. And if you really wanted to point fingers, it would have never happened had she not agreed to this farce.

  So yeah, she got under my skin and not necessarily in a good way. But the worst time she got under my skin so deep was when she came home looking like a sexy secretary. The only thing she was missing was a pair of dark framed glasses. She didn’t show much skin, but that was probably the most alluring part; a present waiting to be opened, and by the way her clothes fit her, the present was going to be amazing. Her hair was pinned back, and my fingers were itching to dig into the bun and pull her hair down before tugging it back, causing her head to tip back and giving me an open invitation to her neck.

  The fact that my body wanted her hadn’t been anything new. She was beautiful, she was sexy, and she was technically mine. My mind might have known the difference between friend and enemy, but my body didn’t discriminate. What really got to me was the fact that she was singing, her voice a low husky tone that didn’t match the higher pitch of her speaking voice. I was listening to her bedroom voice singing some stupid pop song. The bright smile that played on her lips was enough to light up the room. She was absolutely stunning. And then she informed me that she was working. What the fuck?

  I wasn’t one for work in the first place. It wasn’t my thing. Those people who wanted to, good for them, but it wasn’t for me. But my wife, oh hell no, she wasn’t working. I’d like to say it was all based on image, and a big chunk of it was. I was the man, the head, the lead. My wife was not going to outdo me. Fuck that. Yet a bigger part was because Paige was going out, looking the way she was looking, every day with other guys staring at her and thinking the thoughts I had just been thinking. I didn’t like it. And I hated that I didn’t like it.

  I told her she wasn’t working, but she fought me on it. Truth be told, I admired her determination; that spark to make something of herself without anyone backing her up. There had been a time once, long ago, when I’d had that same spark. And fuck if it wasn’t a turn-on to see that fire in her eyes as she stared me down, trying to hide her fear. I almost wanted to keep at it just to see her eyes glow. But it was for that same reason that I finally acquiesced. I couldn’t be near her when she was like that, and if I kept arguing with her, she’d continue to smolder. And I had to remind myself that what she did didn’t matter to me. So I told her I was okay with her working, and I meant it. Things continued much the same for the next couple of months. She tried to stay out of my way as much as possible, and that was fine with me. There were a couple of times where she did or said something that got to me and we argued, but that was pretty usual stuff, too. She slept on the couch often. I didn’t really understand why, but I always found her in the same position as the first time, snuggling close to the pillow, the blanket barely covering her arms. It became sort of a routine for me to cover her. I’d see her, cover her, and head to bed. The nights I couldn’t sleep and didn’t see her started to feel odd. She was ruining my bachelor life slowly, and that was just another reason to hate her. I couldn’t keep track of all the reasons I hated her. Believe me, I had tried. Each and every time I did that, Paige pissed me off even more, and she didn’t even have to be around. I’d find a way to forget her easily, though, and it always involved a woman screaming my name. But never with that low, husky voice I had heard once from Paige. And it bugged me that I remembered that. It bugged me even more when I heard it again.

  Seven

  Paige

  A few months after working, a co-worker in a different department asked me out on a date. He was handsome and smart, and it wasn’t happening. I was married ... loosely, but still married. And even if I wasn’t and was free to date, if I were free to potentially find the man of my dreams, to marry him, and get that happily ever, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I was working full time, trying to avoid Enzo overtime, and figuring out school options as a second job. But it made me feel good, special even. I had never felt truly beautiful … ever. Enzo was the first guy to look at me with lust, but that was Enzo. That wasn’t really a compliment, and from the number of times I had been forced to sleep on the couch because I couldn’t listen to one more “Oh, Enzo,” I was pretty sure he’d have sex with just about anything female. A tiny secret part of me was also slightly offended that Enzo would have sex with the entire female population, but other than our wedding night, he hadn’t tried anything with me. Crazy, right? I was scared of the man for the same reason I was offended. Insecurity would do that to a person.

  This guy asking me on a date had made my day. I couldn’t help the silly grin I had plastered on my face all day. I had to keep reminding myself that I was at work so I wouldn’t belt out some love song. I was in such a good mood that when I cooked dinner for myself that night, I allowed myself to sing. It was low just in case Enzo came home, but I sang anyway. Big mistake.

  Something about me being happy always rubbed him the wrong way. I desperately tried to wear an emotionless face around the house at all times, never knowing when I’d run into him. The times when a smile would surface for whatever reason always ended in an argument. A week before, I had been thinking about the fact that I realized I started calling everyone “darlin’” at work thanks to my co-worker rubbing off on me. I hadn’t realized it so much until my boss laughed at me and said, “Well, all right there. darlin’.”

  “Oh, no! Tami got to me,” I cried.

  “Don’t worry, she gets to everyone eventually. Even I had a phase,” he whispered low. “Don’t tell anyone, though.”

  I came home with a smile on my face and walked right into a hard chest. Enzo was on his way out. I jumped back quickly, but that seemed to piss him off more.

  “What’s so fucking funny, Paige?” The tone of his voice betrayed his calm exterior.

  “Nuh … nothing.” I stuttered around him often. When things got heated, my boldness came out, but it was always the beginning of a fight that had him leading and me following. Suffice it to say, we said some nasty things back and forth, and he mumbled the phrase I had come to call the three loving words. “I hate you,” used to have an effect on me, but the way Enzo spewed it like air now just made me sigh.

  This time, though, when I heard, “What the fuck are you doing?” I knew something was different. I couldn’t really pinpoint the difference between the tone he used then and all the other times, but something made me flinch in a way I hadn’t before.

  “Cooking,” I responded, trying to keep my voice calm.

  “What the hell are you cooking?”

  “Chicken marsala with angel hair pasta,” I told him, not understanding why what I made mattered.

  “You cook?” he asked
, a touch of astonishment clouded his anger.

  “Yes.”

  “Why have I never seen you cook?”

  “I don’t often cook since it’s just for me.”

  “So why are you cooking today?”

  “Just felt like it?” I answered more like a question than a response.

  “And you felt like fucking singing, too?”

  “I … uh … yeah?” Again, it was more of a question. I didn’t understand his line of questioning or what in the heck I did to get him so upset.

  “Why the hell haven’t you cooked for me? I’m your husband. Don’t you think I deserve a nice, home-cooked meal?”

  “I never thought of it.” It was the truth. I never even thought to cook for him, but now that he put the thought in my head, I didn’t think I ever really would have. I didn’t like him; he didn’t like me. No, scratch that, he hated me. So why would I cook for him?

  “You better have enough for the both of us now then, little girl. And stop your fucking singing,” he demanded. Well, geez … I knew I didn’t have the best voice, but really?

  “I only bought enough ingredients to make myself dinner.”

  “Well, then I suggest you go out and get more.” His tone was mocking and I didn’t like it.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I stated again.

  “Are you really saying no to me?”

  “Like that would stop you,” I hissed. He reeled back as if I had slapped him for a moment then he was in my face. It seemed like every time he got truly mad, his next step was to get as close to me as possible. I was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate me. It worked, but if I had pushed him to this, it usually meant I was at the point where I wasn’t backing down, either.

  “Fine, then I’ll eat it and you can eat something else.”

  “No way.”

  “You don’t need pasta anyway.”

  I gasped, using all my strength not the slap him. How dare he? I knew I wasn’t the best-looking person, but I wasn’t fat. Yet … part of me cared that he said that; that he thought I should lay off the carbs.