My days were kind of filled. College classes, practicing with my new band, my shitty job. There were a few gigs here and there with the band but it didn't exactly pay the rent. Michelle went to school, too, and she worked a shitty job, too. She was a waitress.
And I was in control, always. I was light and carefree and joking with the band and at work. I was sort of quiet at school, thinking about how I didn't really like school all that much but maybe I needed it, needed some sort of backup. That sucked.
Me and Michelle lived in this apartment, kind of shitty but it was ours. We had to go to the laundry mat. Man, was that inconvenient. We didn't have a dishwasher. No modern conveniences. But it was cool to be on our own, to be over 18 and living like adults, somewhat. Not having to follow anyone's rules anymore. But the funny thing about that is there are rules, like going to work and school and doing the dishes and all of that shit. Just because it isn't Joey or any of the teachers at Degrassi telling me what to do doesn't mean there aren't rules.
Then, at night, I'd get so angry at Michelle. Just this out of control anger and we'd fight, and I wouldn't always hit her but a lot of times I would. It was like I couldn't stop myself, and she'd scream at me that I was a bastard and that she didn't know why she stayed. But I did.
She'd take off in the car we shared or lock herself in our bedroom and I'd be left with myself. The remorse bitter in my mouth like bile. I knew why she stayed. It was easier to stay. It was easy to think it wouldn't happen again. It was easy to blame herself.
My head down, feeling waves of guilt washing over me. I'd think about my father. There was another similarity between us. I was a violent asshole to exactly one person, just like he was. My dad had been the greatest surgeon, his patients loved him, the nurses and other doctors he worked with respected him. It was just me who had to put up with the brunt of his anger and stress and "losing his patience". Like Michelle. She put up with it from me. She was my target.
And sometimes, even though it was crazy, I wished he was alive. He understood this. Joey wasn't like this. He never hit us. He was really in control, even when he was pissed off. Maybe I should talk to Joey, ask him how he does it. But it's all complicated. I had this history of violence, of being violent and being the victim. Joey didn't have that, he didn't have that to overcome. I wasn't being very good at overcoming.
Michelle was changing. She wasn't talking to me that much even when we weren't fighting. She wasn't laughing anymore. She was dragging herself to school and work, this look in her eyes that was dull, blank, not good. I was hurting her, I knew that. But my anger was so hard to control. It wasn't fair to her, I knew that. But there seemed to be nothing I could do.
It was status quo time. We were both kind of ignoring it, thinking I could change. She probably thought she could change, that she wouldn't piss me off. But it wasn't just her, it was everything. It was stress, it was fear, it was my past, it was my methods of coping. Her behavior alone couldn't change me. But when someone you love is beating the shit out of you it's hard to take all that into account.
So I guess I'd let it go for now. And maybe I could change, who knew? It was willpower. No matter how mad I got I wouldn't lose control. I'd leave, I'd punch a pillow or something. I had to change and I could. I didn't need any outside help, any counselors or psychoanalysts. I would just be better.
I'd wake up in the morning and catch glimpses of the bruises on her delicate skin and I'd feel so lost. I'd be so angry at my father again. It was his fault. If he hadn't been like he was I wouldn't be this way, either. In my most formative years I was being so abused, so hurt all of the time. What chance did I have? I'd see the black and blues on her arms and legs and swallow hard. I loved her. What was I doing? What was wrong with me? I didn't have much of a chance at all.
I got up and made the coffee, thinking about Michelle and what she was willing to take. Despite love there was a limit to what people were willing to put up with. There had been with me and my dad. I wondered how close she was to her limit.