Dinner, Dear?

Look at him.

Look at him as he just sits there.

The smugness.

That high and mighty, purely arrogant, atmosphere that surrounds this fool.

It makes me sick.

"What the fuck is taking you so long?" I hear him yell from the living room, as I divert my eyes back to the sandwich I was, so unwillingly, making for him.

"Just a minute babe. I'm almost finished, just putting everything up now," I say back in the nicest of tones as I return the turkey and cheese to the fridge.

This is my life now; of course. There's no reason in fighting it every second of every day. Over the years, I've gotten used to it. The names, the harshness. Learning that I never do anything right, even if done exactly as he says. After so long, you become numb to it. The language is something you become used to. A normal, if you will.

"Ten minutes for a fucking sandwich? What the fuck is your problem?"

I just ignore it. It's nothing new of course. I know by now, had it taken only two minutes, it still wouldn't have been quick enough; or hell, who knows, it may have turned out to have gotten to him too quickly then. There's no winning with him, and my mom always told me, 'if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.' So, silent I remain.

I take my spot on the end of the couch opposite of him, wishing to be nearly anywhere else, with nearly anyone else; but my babies are here. Why do I put up with any of this for even the slightest of moments? For them and only them.

I did not know this side of him prior to my pregnancies. No. This him came when he finally realized I couldn't get away, when he realized he finally had me.

I had always wanted to be a mom. I always wanted to find love and find my one, and this evil preyed on that. Twenty years my senior, I thought I was seen as the mature young lady I was, not as the easy target I became.

He made me feel pretty and special. He made promise after promise he never intended to keep and held his mask on with a professionalism I haven't met since.

It was far too late when I finally realized what the monster behind the mask truly looked like.

"Ah!! What the fuck was that?!" He yells, as I realized it's the stupid video game again. From the time he wakes up until the time his friends fall asleep and even long after, Grand Theft Auto is all I hear about, see, or have to watch.

I hear my little man playing in his room and I'm just happy that he doesn't know that there's a better life to be had than the one we are currently living; but as his laughter flows from his room and fills the living room, I find myself smiling. You have to appreciate the little things. And what better thing to appreciate than your childs' laughter, right?

"Boy! Shut the fuck up in there and close your Goddamn door. I don't want to hear that shit!" Al yells at little man, and my blood instantly boils. I can't stand it when he talks to him like that, but over the years, we've fought over it so much, I can have the fight with myself and still lose.

"Seriously Al? He's just playing. Let him have a good time."

"I don't want to fucking hear it. You're not the one here with them 24/7. I am. So they are going to listen to what the fuck I tell them to do, and I told him to shut the fuck up." He looks back to his game, turns his headset back on and continues on. "Sorry guys, I'm back. The boy was just causing a ruckus and I had to get him to calm down. The girls are still sleeping."

As I look at each of my baby girls in their play pins, I wonder to myself, 'Can I really let them grow up like this?' They deserve so much better.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, as things have quieted down and I have begun to space out into my inner world, the place I have built over the years as my way to cope, I jump out of my skin with a scream that escaped my lips before my brain even processed the sound of the shattering plate.

"You ignorant cunt! Ham! What the fuck do you not understand about, 'make me a HAM sandwich'?!"

As my son comes running out of his room scared, asking "what happened, mom?" and all three girls start screaming and crying too, having been awoken by the breaking glass, I work to calm everyone down.

"It's alright little man. Nothing to worrying about. Go ahead and run back into your room and go play with your guys. Mommy has to get this glass picked up and I don't want you getting hurt, okay?"

Confused, he simply says, "okay, mom," and runs back off into his room. As I get up to take care of the girls, he repeats, "Hello? I asked you a fucking question. What the fuck don't you understand about HAM sandwich?"

"The fact that we don't have any ham is what I don't understand. How am I to make you a HAM sandwich out of turkey? I figured you just wanted a sandwich, so I made you a sandwich. Pardon me."

"Never-fucking-mind. I'll just get it my-goddamn-self," he rudely replies as he gets up and literally steps over me as I'm picking up the glass from the shattered plate.

'I truly can't do this anymore,' I think to myself as I realize the silent tears are marching down my face, yet again, and my daughter's whimper their last whimpers before falling back into their sweet baby slumbers. This isn't a rare occurrence. This is daily life. The yelling, the cursing, the put-downs, and the inability to ever do anything right.

My children deserve better. They deserve happy. I deserve happy.

As he crosses the threshold back into the living room to reclaim his spot on the couch, my stomach flips, my skin crawls and my blood boils. Nothing in me can stand this man.

The next few hours continue on as he ignores the children and I for his game, but still ensuring that none of us make a sound or do anything other than watch him.

It's that time. Dinner time again.

What hell are we in for this time, I wonder. Better to prepare myself than let it be a shock I'm learning.

I start preparing the chicken fingers and mac and cheese little man wanted, and I figured, since he was so good today, I'll go ahead and surprise him with a piece of chocolate cake after dinner. He always gets so excited for chocolate, it truly makes me smile.

Once dinner is done and everyone has eaten, this time with less, "boy, sit the fuck down and eat's" than usual, I sneak into the kitchen to surprise little man. The girls are still too young for cake, but soon they will be enjoying it as well.

As I come back with a piece of cake for little man, Al starts his shit, yet again. "What the fuck are you doing? He can't have that. He hasn't listened all fucking day. Are you fucking stupid?"

"He hasn't done anything wrong today. He played in his room all day and hasn't gotten in trouble once," I argue back, as I give the cake to little man anyway.

"I'm his dad and I said he ain't fucking having it." He spits as he gets up and takes the cake from my son. Little man immediately starts crying as Al yells at him, "boy, go to your fucking room and shut the fuck up. I said you aren't having chocolate before bed and that's that."

I follow my son into his room as I console him and reassure him that he didn't do anything wrong and mommy will get him his cake tomorrow when he wakes up. I give him plenty of love and read a couple of stories to him as he finally dozes off for the night.

I return to the living room with a sickness in my stomach and a wish that this man would fall asleep and not wake up. He starts in again with his ridiculous nonsense and I completely tone him out. I'm in my escape again. That place he can't reach me. That place I'm mentally okay.

"Hello?!" I hear him say.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Did you not hear me? I said, go get me a piece of cake, since you want to give it to the boy without my permission and then never even ask if I want any."

As I stand up to get his cake, every fiber of my being screaming at me, "What the hell are you doing?!" I find myself in the kitchen preparing the plate of dessert I made for my child, whom didn't get any of it, instead for the man whom I didn't want to have any of it.

'Boric acid,' I read on the bottle so perfectly placed on the counter, calling my name, ever-so sweetly.

No.

I can't.

Or can I?

Who would know?

I mean, really? It's just a little 'powdered sugar,' right?

Oh, the turmoil.

Why is this such a hard decision?

Do I, or don't I?

I just don't know.

As I return with the cake for the man whom has made my life a true living nightmare, I hand him the piece of cake with a peace in my heart I didn't think I could find. I had made my decision, and regardless the outcome, I had made peace with it.

I watched as he ate the cake and then demanded milk, again, of course calling me stupid for not already having it ready for him. But little does he know, I only play a fool. And tonight, tonight is the night he will finally realize, I won.