As soon as Angelo opened his door, he found that he immediately regretted it.
Jazelle hopped to her feet from his, bed, joy spread across her face as she bounced. "Blaze! Thank the gods, I didn't know if you'd come back!"
Angelo simply avoided eye contact, closing the door with no slam, no theatrics, and no attention drawn. He kept his head down, and he walked right past her. There was no care in his heart about what she had to say, or what excuse she had. This was just the same shit on a different day. She seemed to immediately read in his aura what was wrong.
"I swear, I didn't mean to bail." She said sweetly. "I got an order-"
Angelo didn't speak, simply slipping off his coat. However, that last part made him turn, signing quickly. The anger on his face was palpable.
Order? He repeated with his hands. I thought nobody knew you were there?
Jazelle's face contorted into an unreadable expression, and she quickly rebranded. "Bab,y I didn't want to leave you there." She said.
She reached forward, but Angelo pulled away. He didn't want to be touched, especially by her, especially by a liar who left him to get caught by the cops. However, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to retract his anger. What would she have done? Fight them off? There were two of them, with two guns, and she was outside the window. What was she supposed to do?
However, she got angry before he could apologise.
"Are you avoiding me?" She shouted. "I'm telling the truth, Blaze!"
He flinched at that name – he hated it. His name was Angelo, and yet he never corrected her. He didn't know why, maybe it was his fault, but he just didn't. Yet, he took too long to answer again.
"You think I wanted to leave?" She snapped. "I didn't have a choice! You know I don't ever get a choice with this bullshit!"
Angelo wasn't angry anymore – he was just tired. He didn't want her to yell at him right now, she he stepped forward, trying to sign and calm the rage.
You could have said something, but I-
Before he could finish, she shouted. "Don't you dare paint me as the villain!"
SMACK.
There it was again – the sound of meat being hit by a man in a butcher shop downtown, being playful and silly with his friends. Showing off deer meat to the kid at the counter, selling off stag to the mother… but it wasn't a playful spank on the meat, or a mother and child in a butcher shop.
Jazelle had hit him.
The slap resonated in his head, and he stumbled. He had to catch himself on the dresser by the window, cheek burning as it settled. His girlfriend just slapped him across the face, but it was more disappointment roiling in his chest than shock or bafflement. He was used to this, the boiling anger that made her lash out.
Jazelle gasped, covering her mouth. She was bigger than him – stronger than him. Even after this time working out and becoming the best son the Don could make out of a five foot two boy (152 centimetres), he could still be overrun by a woman that was half a foot taller (15 centimetres) and had been working out for so much longer.
"I-" She started. "I didn't mean- you were just giving me that look…"
She moved towards him, but he didn't react. He held his cheek, feeling the heat, the red, the bruise. It would take until morning, but it would be there. Jazelle continued to struggle for words.
"Baby, come on," She forced a laugh. "Don't shut down on me?" Her voice was coaxing, adorable. "I've had a bad day, and I only reacted like that because you mean something to me."
Jazelle reached for him, but he flinched away – violent, scared. He didn't look at her, as if she was a predator and locking eyes would mean a challenge was being enacted. She froze for a moment, then scoffed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes like he was being the ridiculous one.
"Fine." She scowled. "Just sulk in silence like you always do."
She grabbed her coat and stormed out of the room; she didn't use the window this time. Angelo knew why: because she wanted attention, and she wanted someone to ask her what was wrong. Not in the way that something was actually necessary to talk about, but in the way that she just wanted someone to pay attention to her after what she did to make her feel better. She was going to twist the story, make it his fault, and then she would be the victim.
Angelo sunk to the floor, holding his cheek. He stayed like that for a long time, memories running in his head of when that man hit his mother while he was hiding in the closet. How he was so innocent it just reminded him of men at a butcher shop. This time, it was different. It reminded him of control.
So he got up, and he went to the bathroom. He refused to think about it, to dwell on what would happen or who would paint a target on his back. He just stared at his hands, then proceeded to wash them in the sink… like nothing ever happened.