Chapter 8 Cordelia - Soundtracks
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop
King John, William Shakespeare
My empty stomach prompted me to leave my haven, forcing me to pass the living room on my way to the kitchen.
I hadn’t shopped since I’d walked in on Harrison banging his child bride, but Miranda had stocked up on instant meals, warning Harrison that she’d cut off his balls if he went near her purchases.
“You’re so naughty, Harry!” the child bride giggled. I didn’t even look. Harrison cleared his throat and presumably moved away from her in a show of “respect” for me. How sensitive. Still refusing to turn my head, I entered the kitchen and located a frozen single-serve spaghetti bolognaise.
“Cordy, are you okay?” Harrison asked, feigning concern for me. “I think this arrangement is hurting you. Why can’t you just go and stay with Miranda? Or Juliet?”
Fuck him. Why should I leave my home?
“Don’t concern yourself on my behalf asshole. This is my house. I told you to check the title.”
He reached out to touch my arm, so of course I pulled away.
I watched the pasta turn in the microwave as though it was a newly released thriller.
I heard a dramatic sigh. Oh, how difficult his life must be.
He wasn’t an asshole when we met. He was charming and romantic.
I overlooked his hygiene quirks, perhaps even loving him more because of them.
“Cordelia, I told you I’d give you bond. You won’t be leaving with nothing.”
“But I won’t be leaving with my fair share.
We’re a common law couple Harrison, or at least we were a common law couple.
I’m entitled to half of the value of this house.
All I’ve asked you for is my share of the deposit plus a little extra for the value I’ve already added.
You ruined us. You left me! Why should I lose out on this?
If I’d cheated on you, I’d have left with my tail between my legs and not asked for a thing because I have a conscience, which you seem to have lost or never had in the first place,” I snapped.
“I told you, I didn’t plan this. Emma just came along and I realized what I was missing, what we were missing.
A clean break is best and I’m looking at this objectively, not emotionally.
You’re just trying to punish me, and I understand that.
Truly I do. I know the way I ended this wasn’t ideal and I’ve been really patient, but we can’t go on like this. ”
Oh, he’s so reasonable.
The microwave beeped, so I took my meal, a fork and headed back to my mole hole.
To complete the feral animal visual, I almost wanted to hiss at Emma on my way.
I wished I’d never told Miranda to go out tonight.
I didn’t want her relationship to fall apart, so I knew she needed time with Cam, but she was like my shield.
My words were always delivered with an air of depression or outright anger, but Miranda always spoke to the enemy calmly, but sharply.
She appeared to be unflappable, and that really got under Harrison’s skin.
I turned on the television and stabbed my fork into the plastic bowl.
Kill Bill would do nicely tonight. Every night, I questioned my decision to claim the master bedroom.
The bed in here didn’t squeak. The guest bed did, so at night, I’d either have to torture myself with the sound of next door’s bedspring melodies or blast my television loud.
I opted for the former to show that they weren’t hurting me, even though they were.
They were gutting me, slowly and painfully, and the man who once professed to love me was the one wielding the knife.
When Miranda was here, she set up a speaker outside their door and blasted the most unsexy songs she could find.
Sometimes it was Norwegian death metal. Other times it was children’s songs like Bob the Builder or The Chicken Dance .
Last night, she had a different theme, with Into the Night by Benny Mardones, Young Girl by Gary Puckett & the Union Gap, and 29 by Demi Lovato.
She had been irritated about the role reversal in Mrs. Robinson because she loved that song. I really missed her tonight.
Not ready to endure the bedspring remix alone tonight, I put in my earbuds and tried to sleep to the sound of a rain app.
Over the last few days, we’d unwillingly compiled a playlist. We should upload it, maybe we could title it When your man cheats with a glorified child, refuses to leave the house, and tortures you with sex sounds . It might be popular.