This is a one-shot with two chapters ;-)
The two chapters represent two different POV's, but revolves around the same argument.
The argument takes place right before Cooter hits Shannon the first time, and before the truth about their relationship gets out.
Turning Tables
She hesitated briefly before she opened the door. Sometimes his unpredictability got the better of her. He had been okay this morning, but there were days when his mood would change in a heartbeat.
She tip toed into the house and listened. "Are you home Cooter?" she asked making an effort to sound happy.
She could hear him get up from the couch and soon enough he stood in the kitchen arms crossed. Even before he spoke, she sensed his hostility. It was one of the bad days.
"Didn't you see my car in the drive way?" he asked irritated.
"Yes of course," she said, and kept her smile in place.
"Then it's a stupid question, don't you think?" There were no sparks in his eyes, just an abyss of darkness and hurt.
She decided not to argue with him, and started emptying the bags with groceries instead. But he just kept staring at her back, and discomfort rose through her spine and made the hair on her neck rise. In a panic search for subjects that weren't dangerous she picked the first thing on her mind. "So how did the game go today? Did your guys nail them?"
The minute those words had left her mouth she knew it was a mistake.
"Do I look like I'm celebrating?" he asked through gritted teeth, and closed in on her.
"No," she answered carefully. Then she turned to him, met his eyes and squeezed his arm; she missed his embrace. "Coot, you'll get them next time." She smiled. "It's just a football game; it's not the end of the world."
Then he exploded in her face. "I cannot believe you just said that. Maybe losing a game isn't that big of a deal, when you're coaching an insignificant McKinley High football team; so I should have guessed you would be too stupid to understand; but it's a big deal for me, and I do require some respect from you concerning my work."
She blinked by the mere intensity of his outburst, and whished nothing but to calm him down. "I do respect you Coot," she said quietly, "and I'm sorry, it was insensitive of me."
He paced the kitchen floor and she followed him carefully with her eyes.
"And now we're having this sort of discussion," he panted angrily, "don't you think you forgot something this morning?
She quickly did the math. She had done the dishes, the bed was made and the house hadn't been messy when she left this morning. "I don't think so," she answered.
He stepped closer. "Think real hard, Shannon."
She franticly searched her mind, but couldn't come up with anything. "The garbage Shannon," he whispered, closing in on her face. "You forgot to go out with the garbage yesterday."
God, how could she forget?!
"Do you know what chicken smells like after 24 hours?" he asked. She just stared at him and something everything inside of her went numb. "It smells like a dumb!" he said. "And how do you think that makes me feel, when I come home, tired and hungry after a long day, and all I can smell is rotten chicken in my house?"
"Coot, I'm sorry," she whispered, "let me make it up to you, I'll make a delicious dinner for us."
He grabbed two plates from the table and smashed them on the floor, where they broke into a thousand pieces. "I don't want your fucking dinner," he shouted, "I want a wife who understands what marriage means, a woman who knows what being in a relationship means. But how can you know? Since I'm the first one who ever wanted you!"
She backed away from him, until she was cornered by the wall behind her. He knew her weaknesses and her insecurities about men, and it hurt so much every time he threw it her face; and still all she could think about right now, were the broken plates on the floor.
When she saw his fist in the air, she was too paralyzed to protect herself. She just closed her eyes, as his hand crashed into to the wall a few inches from her face.
He screamed out in pain. "Look what you made me do! It's your own fault, you do know that, right!" Then he grabbed his coat and stormed out. "Don't wait up for me," he mumbled before slamming the door.
The tears kept streaming down her face as she collected each of the broken pieces from the plates, like they were treasures to her. When she was done, she started making dinner. The damage on the wall was substantial, so she figured he must have sprained his hand. He would need ice on it when he returned. She would have to check if they had anything left in the freezer, she thought.
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