3/17/2018

The steaming water seared my hands as I scrubbed the dishes. I flinched as the door slammed shut only a few feet away. They were fighting again. The house had been quiet all day, but then he came back. He whined about how stressful work had been, how he just wanted to loaf around and be waited on. She complained that that's all he ever did, that she needs some help every now and then.

He craned his scrawny neck down into her face, saliva flying from his lips as he bellowed that he was the master and that she would do as she was told. Her hand shot up into the air, ready to swing—I'd never seen him recoil so severely, and she hadn't even touched him yet. I couldn't help but snicker at his cowardice.

His eagle-like head spun in my direction. "What are you laughing at?" he boomed. "You think hitting people is funny?"

"Leave him out of this," she shouted at him, redirecting his attention once more.

"If he wants to be left out of it, he shouldn't be laughing!"

"He's laughing because you're a coward!"

His face turned the colour of tomato soup. "Coward?! I'll show you what a coward can do..."

He froze. Slowly, both their eyes turned back towards me; more steam seemed to be pluming from his ears than the sink now.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

I looked down at the massive knife in my hand, then back at him.