Fourteen | Dom
Fourteen
Dom
I finished my shower and put on clean clothes, leaning toward comfy with my joggers and a T-shirt since I knew we weren’t leaving the house for a few days.
I had purposely bought some of Jo’s favorite foods so I could cook for her while we were stuck together, however I wouldn’t really call it stuck.
In my mind, it was more like fate giving us some uninterrupted time together to strengthen our bond and explore things.
I hung my towel on the hook in the bathroom and headed into the living room. Before I could process what was happening, I ducked, barely avoiding the tennis shoe Jo chucked at my head. I looked up at her, noticing the furious look on her face as she stared at me.
“How the fuck could you do this to me?” she screamed, throwing the other shoe.
I darted to the side, avoiding getting hit as my brain rushed to keep up with what was happening.
“I can’t believe I fucking believed you,” she seethed, her hand tightly gripping a phone in her hand.
Not just any phone. My phone.
I swallowed hard, looking from it to her.
“It’s not what you think,” I said, immediately knowing why she was so pissed off.
“FUCK. YOU.”
She picked up her coffee mug and threw it at me, the little coffee she had left in it splattering the wood floors before it crashed to the floor. The cup shattered, sending ceramic shards flying.
“Jo, please,” I started, holding my hands up in front of me.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” she seethed. “Get the fuck out of my house!”
“I know that you’re upset,” I replied calmly as I watched my step and carefully approached her. “Can we please talk about this?”
“Talk about what, Dom? How Tray fucking text you this morning? You fucking LIED to me! I knew better than to fucking trust you.” She shook her head as her nostrils flared.
I was just almost within reach before her hand darted out, pulling a knife from the butcher block on the counter. I lifted my hands in surrender.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” I asked, knowing now was not the time to tell her what was really going on.
“That’s not my fucking problem. You have ten seconds to get your shit and get the fuck out of here.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything and making it worse.
My shoes were sitting by the front door, so I went back into the room and gathered my things, shoving whatever fit in my bag before pulling on a hoodie.
When I went back to the living room, Jo was still holding my phone in one hand and the knife in the other.
It was clear she wasn’t giving me back my phone, so I put my shoes on, pulled the hood over my head, and walked out the door without looking back.