It was almost a ritual, these fights. Sure, Bobby had almost grown to live with them because honestly, they were a lot more reliable than any day job that working men like him clung to.
If he was lucky, he could go at least a week with no real arguments but that was a rarity. It started over stupid stuff, really. He was staying out later than he should have been. He spent too much time lounging about on the couch and drinking. He swore too much around the kid. He swore too much in general. He didn't appreciate her. Blah blah blah.
It had been almost three years and this constant whining was just noise now. But he had his days where he couldn't take it anymore. Hell, he was Bobby Mercer. The guy who had a temper that could erupt fiercer than any five volcanoes put together. And when he did lose it, he really fucking lost it.
He'd rage for a good ten minutes until she was in tears or the kid was in tears or the both of them were hysterical. She'd throw things. He would dodge. She'd tear at her hair. He'd call her a psychotic bitch. She'd slap him and he'd summon up every ounce of his being to keep from knocking her clean into the next century. Bobby hadn't hit a woman in ages and he didn't plan on doing it any time soon. So in the end, he would always take off, convinced that that was the last straw and he wasn't coming back. Sure, he'd head to the local bar where people knew him. He'd have a couple of drinks, chat it up with Phil and a few guys. Maybe watch the game and in the end, that anger that boiled in the pit of his stomach would die down and he'd feel silly. He'd feel juvenile and stupid. So he'd head on back home and find her half-awake on the couch, spent of tears and screams. It was always the same.
Bobby would sit down beside her and brush the hair out of her eyes and offer a soft "hey". What else could he say really? There was never a "I'm sorry" or "I was wrong" to be had. No fucking way. Bobby could be reasonable when the time called for it but he was no pussy and the pride in him never let him apologize because whether or not he was in the wrong, he didn't feel the need to admit it. He would never give her that satisfaction. He'd give her a lot of things, his attention, his dick, hell, even his heart but never that. There were some things that Bobby couldn't give to anyone. He didn't know whether the silent agreement to agree to disagree strengthened their strange bond or only succeeded in shattering it further. Though, when she finally found herself in his arms, crying softly, Bobby more or less forgot. And when she was naked underneath him and chanting his name like some ancient prayer, Bobby was reassured that he was the man and she was his lady and regardless of what had happened, she was giving into him. And Bobby always took it with open arms.
But tonight was different, wasn't it?
Bobby had come home a lot later than usual. The kid was already fast asleep and he was somewhat grateful for that. He loved the little tyke but right now he was so wasted he didn't want to be anywhere but on his fucking couch, just chilling. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't happening.
He had stumbled into the house only to see that gorgeous giant tapping his fucking remote against the couch with a real pissed off look on her face. Bobby had quickly readied himself. He knew what was coming. They were gonna fight and then they were gonna fuck and everything would be a-okay in a couple of hours. Bring it, he thought with an almost sickening sort of comfort in the familiarity of the situation.
Just the way she had looked then. Her hair out and sort of spilled over her tan shoulders and the way her eyes had sparkled like they always did. Her chest had been heaving up and down like she was containing sobs and Bobby had almost gotten ready to bend her over right there and then if not for the questioning to come. That's what Bobby hated most. Her fucking questions cause they just kept on coming till he didn't care to answer.
She was a hot piece of work indeed but she knew how to push his buttons. It was still such a shocking thought to anyone who knew Bobby to realize the kind of woman he had decided to stick with. She was everything Bobby had tried to avoid in the past and hell, she was still everything that annoyed him but somehow, she was the one he had stayed with in the long run.
So she had gone through the same old song and dance. He was drinking too much while she sat at home with a cold dinner, worrying about him. Why couldn't he call. He didn't care about her or the baby.
God, Bobby's head had been killing him. He had figured there would be one massive hangover to come and he didn't need that shit now. But a question of hers had somehow stuck with him. Why? She hadn't ever asked it before.
"Do you want this to work, Bobby?"
What a question. He was the one taking care of her. Sure, she was a rich bitch but who was the one who had taken it upon himself to be the father figure that Maddie had never had? Who was the one who had taken her away from the troubled world she had grown up in? Who was the one who came back each fucking night even though she gave him every reason in the world not to? Him. Bobby Mercer.
She was just being an ungrateful bitch so of course, Bobby had gotten angry and probably said a little more than he needed to.
"Do I want it to fucking work? Are you fucking kidding me, woman? Who's the one bending over backwards to fucking stick around, huh? I don't fucking have to but I always come back. I ALWAYS COME BACK."
She had been in tears. Typical. But the way she had looked at him. It hadn't made Bobby feel like he was right at all. No. It had made Bobby feel like a first class heel so he only got angrier.
"You make it sound like this relationship is a burden."
Bobby had laughed and laughed hard. Cruel but it couldn't have been helped. Alcohol and anger were not a good combination and Bobby had always had a habit of spitting fire before thinking.
"Burden? You try living with a whiny bitch who complains and expects the world to bow down to her every need. Lemme tell you something, the world doesn't fucking revolve around you, princess. Get the fuck over yourself, alright?"
At the time, that had felt good. It had felt real good to get that off of his chest. Of course, he didn't really mean it but he was so tired of being constantly criticized and admonished that he had needed a little something to fire back with and boy did it burn. That was apparent as he had noted the way she froze and stopped crying.
He had opened his mouth to say something else but she was already out of the room and heading for the nursery.
Bobby hadn't followed her, instead he had leaned himself against the kitchen table and taken several breaths, the need to puke his guts out coming on swiftly.
She had reappeared with a sleeping Maddie in her arms and her purse in the other.
That had been a shock to Bobby's system. In the three years that they had been together, it had always been Bobby who walked out on her. Not the other way around. But Bobby was still too pissed and wasted to care. He had simply stepped out of the way and offered some mocking words as a parting gift.
"Yeah, real nice. Take the poor kid out into the cold this time of night. You'll come crawling back soon enough and you know fucking well that I'll let you. So run. Go ahead. I'll be fucking seeing you."
She had said nothing. She hadn't even looked at him as she walked out of the house and took her prized Hummer.
Bobby wouldn't bitch. It was her car, after all.
So he had decided to grab another beer and plop himself down on the couch, his neck tense from all the anger. He didn't know when he had dozed off in front of the tv but by the time he came to, it was already morning. Well, afternoon more like it. Luckily for him, it was the weekend and he had no work commitment. He had expected to find her in Maddie's room but the house had been vacant. So he had dragged his tired ass over to the kitchen to check for any messages. Surely she'd call him and let him know where she was and when she was coming back but no luck.
Bobby had clenched his hands into tight fists, fighting the urge to punch the fridge in. Now, he was pissed. He hated these stupid fights but he hated being wrong even more. Why the fuck hadn't she come back? All of her shit was still here. Her stupid designer dresses and accessories and Maddie's toys. She had to come back. Right?
Bobby had asked himself that question for days. There came a point where he found himself calling in sick to miss work, not able to bring himself to leave the house just in case she came back and he wasn't there. He'd find himself in the master bedroom. Their bedroom. He'd stare at the pictures of her and him. There were so many which was nothing short of a miracle as Bobby hated cameras. But there they were, at a picnic, atop a mountain in Vermont, back at ma's house in Detroit, at Jerry's, even in one of those stupid mall photo booths. That was the one Bobby professed to hating most because he was smiling like a goofy little kid but she had insisted upon putting it up for everyone to see. She had always said that his smile was enough to brighten her day.
Above all that was an expensive portrait of his freakishly tall princess in all of her glory and Bobby had to stare at it for a little longer than necessary. She was beautiful and Bobby could say without bias that there was no physical flaw to her. Unnatural it may have been but Bobby loved it and damn it to hell, he loved her.
The days turned into weeks and Bobby was on the verge of taking off in pursuit of her. There was nothing. No phone call. No email. No letter. Nothing. It had been like she had vanished off the face of the Earth.
Once the weeks had turned into months, Bobby had given up. He knew she wasn't coming back and that alone was enough to get him to leave. He had left. The house, her possessions, that city.
Bobby had gone back to his old wandering ways. Heading from state to state and somehow managing to get buy comfortably. Heck, he even started up that new girlfriend a week thing again. It felt good to be in control, he would often muse over a shot of JD. There was no more looking out for some woman who could barely take care of herself. No, it had been just Bobby and that was how he liked it. Or so he told himself each time he caught himself staring at that picture in his wallet. If asked, he would never be able to tell anyone why he still had a picture of her. He really didn't know and he didn't want to.
The years would go by and Bobby would age but not really. Jerry still liked to remark on how time always stood still when it came to him. There were no real lines on his face that gave away the fact that he was nearing 40 but he had grown to be less volatile. There was a calmness to Bobby that hadn't been there before and he suspected it was simply because he didn't care anymore. Life was just...life.
But on nights where he sat up in whatever tiny apartment he had rented for the time being, he would shift uncomfortably in his couch seat and glance over at where the door was, almost wishing that she would walk in and rid him of this dreadful silence. He wished he could hear her voice again. Anything. Even that God awful whining. He would have given anything to hear her whine again.
But she never came and she never would.
So Bobby had himself another drink and wasted the night away in this deep silence that had become a way of life.