A crash. Otis knocked the glass fruit bowl off the table. It shattered across the floor, shards scattering everywhere.
He held up his hand, sliced open by the glass, and said quietly, "Honey, I'm hurt."
I ignored the wounded look in his eyes.
"Wait here. I'll send someone to bandage that."
His face darkened instantly.
"I don't want someone else. I want you to do it."
"You never used to be like this. When I got hurt, you'd ask me if it stung. You're so cold now. You're not my Elaine."
Whenever we used to fight, he'd act like a little kid throwing a tantrum to win me back.
Every time, I'd think he was adorable and let him have his way.
Now I just felt inexplicably irritated. I pried his fingers off my sleeve and walked straight inside.
Otis, stubborn as ever, slept on the living room couch out of spite.
When I woke the next morning, he was sitting on the sofa with a dark expression.
"Elaine, you really want to split up that badly? You didn't even care that I slept out here."
I frowned, about to say something, when a familiar voice cut in.
"Are you two fighting this early in the morning? Looks like we picked a bad time."
I turned. It was Melvin, with Vivian in tow.