He Doesn't Mean it

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Oct. 24

Dear Alex,

The ceiling started crumbling above our bathroom- little bits started falling while I was showering, then a whole chunk came down while Sean was taking a dump. He yelped, then after a few moments, came crashing out and said, "call the Landlord, tell him he needs to get his ass out here to fix this place once and for all."

He looked at me and his forehead morphed into four crumpled, angry lines.

"Carrie! Call the freaking Landlord!" His voice shook the inside of my rib cage. My cheeks started burning, and I sucked on my lips.

"Goddammit! You're too old to be this shy!" he roared, his feet shaking the floor as he crossed the tiny room to reach me.

"What's wrong with you?" His thick hand met the side of my face with every word: "What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. YOU?!"

He threw me back against the wall and pounded his forearm into my chest. I felt it vibrate my rib cage like when the bass is turned up too loud on the radio. "You're useless," he hissed at me, then he threw me and I landed on the carpet and he stormed out, his feet rattling the house as he pounded down the crumbling stairs.

He hasn't come back yet. There's some faded purple blossoming below my eye- hopefully it won't be too noticeable by tomorrow. I can't have people worrying. They'll tell me Sean doesn't love me, and then I might actually start believing them.

Love,

Carrie

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