The show went pretty well, all things considered, Johnny thought. Julianna, of course, did not make it, which was no surprise. He usually ended up enjoying himself anyway, hanging out with the other guys afterward, packing up their gear, moving to the bar. Tonight, however, they just wanted to get packed up and head out. Van had to get Cole back safely, and Lawrence had promised a friend he'd come help move furniture or something. So, calling it an early night for once, the four split up and hit the road.
Johnny returned to the small home where Julianna was likely sleeping, hopefully. He wasn't going to let anything ruin his good mood. He came in quietly, not wanting to wake her if she was asleep, his eyes adjusting to the low lighting. Feeling almost drunker than he was. Tipsy, he carefully removed his boots and shuffled around the house, before realizing something was off.
He wandered down the tiny hallway, a yellowish glow coming from under the door. Muffled sounds. Confusion settling into dread in his stomach, he turned the corner to face the scene of betrayal. Julianna, a stranger, both on the bed. His chest seized up, words knotted in his throat.
Julianna didn't notice him at first. Her naked body, legs thrown around another man. Face flushed, lips parted. But it didn't take her long to recognise her boyfriend was back early and now bearing witness. Her eyes, those big brown innocent eyes, shot open as the realization settled over her.
"Johnny!" She shot up, pulling at the thin sheet. "Johnny, I—wait—" Words stuck in her throat. There was nothing to say, no chance at explanation. Guilty as day, and she damn well knew it. Her whole naked body and the man in bed next to her, who sheepishly reached to hold her arm, prompting Johnny to flash the coldest, most ferocious death-stare he's ever made in his life.
Before he knew it he was across the room, yelling something hideous, dragging the other man off the mattress, off the other end of the world, if he could, and punched him hard, square in the nose. The guy was bigger than Johnny, taller, stronger, but certainly not quite as angry. He fell back, muttering annoyed curses as he yanked his clothes back on and took off.
"What have you done?" Julianna shrieked as she stood up, her eyes huge, nearly swollen with tears.
"Me? Me? What the fuck is wrong with you!" The rage in his stomach searing, his hands shook as she stood naked, horrified, in front of him. "Who is he?"
"None of your business!"
"None of my business?" he spat. His hands still trembled. He'd never felt so overcome, so completely powerless and angry, so betrayed. The words are hard to get out.
"Yes, it's not!" she insisted, her teeth grit, hands balled up in the sheet. "I don't owe you jack shit."
"Fine." He tried to exhale, but the oxygen seemed permanently caught in his lungs, burning, a malignant fire sitting there, igniting his entire body as the pain doubled back. With nowhere else to go for the night, his body became heavy as he pushed through the motion of slinking off to the couch. Dizzy and nauseated. Tears threatened the corners of his eyes, and it seemed as if everything was suddenly spinning. He curled up on the cushions and pulled the spare blanket up over his head, his body feeling miles away and numb.
The next morning, he wasn't able to muster himself to be hungry. He wasn't feeling much of anything, except the searing hatred that kept coming back at odd moments. The rage. Hatred towards her. Towards himself. His face turned hot with embarrassment. Her actions seemed sudden, but now, facing the stark reality, he wondered how stupid he was for not having figured this out sooner.
He stayed on the couch all morning, half-awake in a stupor, soaking up rays of sunlight on his face. He didn't feel much like getting up. Not yet. She kept coming in the living room, her bare feet thumping on the floor. She asked him for breakfast. As he got out the pan and started pushing eggs around on it, she came out again in one of his t-shirts.
"Who is he?" Johnny finally asked, flipping the egg over, staring into the pan.
"Some guy from work," she replied a bit snappishly.
"His name? Why?" His back was turned to her, arms shivering. He heard her, but only in a slight distortion from over the waves and hum of static in his head. Anxiety, churning and loud.
She fell silent for a second, then he heard a bit of shifting on her part. "Charlie."
The tension in his hands became thick, laced with unspoken, unkind comments, before it became too thick to stand. "Why?" he asked again, but this time his voice was quiet. He flicked the heat down.
"I just...got fed up, I guess..."
"So you had to fuck someone else?"
"Yeah, I did."
Severity in her words. She locked eyes with him for a brief second, an intentional challenge, and then it was gone. Her moment of confidence dashed away by her own guilt. She stared at her feet.
His resolve hardened. He felt the old scars breaking apart inside, like scabs. Raw pain began to creep back in, that poison reaching the surface again. She looked so damn pathetic. He had to do something, make her hurt like he was. Revenge, something. Hurt her back somehow. Anything at all, anything to make it feel better.
The pan clattered as he put it aside, the air around him falling silent. He stared at the sink, his heart seeming to stop for a second, before he swallowed and gathered up the courage.
"Well, fuck. I guess I can't say shit, can I, when I've been doing the same damn thing." He really didn't want to open that can of worms, but now was as good a time as any, and the satisfaction when she snapped her head up and gawked with undeniable shock was almost enough to pull him out of it. He dug in. "Do you want to know how many girls I've banged since we got together?"
"Fuck you," she spat.
Johnny licked his lips. His stomach turned sour. Something primal rose up, a rush of defiance, denial. "Even men, actually," he tossed at her, watching her reaction. Basked in the fury. "That's how fucking uninterested I was with you."
"You lying asshole," she breathed, disbelief written on her features, her lip curled in disgust. She didn't believe him, but felt repulsed by the mere suggestion. That's what mattered. He watched the realization cross her face. A sick relief came when her eyes became glassy.
"Banging a man felt better than anything I did with you." He heard the terrible rush of words unfurling before he could think to stop it. He didn't want to drive her away, knowing there was no one else, but a hot pulse of rage overtook, a pure hatred. "Your sex was absolute trash, baby, I hope you didn't think I actually liked it. Couldn't wait to find some real action that didn't—"
He saw the slap coming, but it still startled him. As she brought her hand to hit him again, he grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her away. She tried to claw, yanking at him, her fingers buried in his shirt. She went for his face and drew her nails into his skin. She was seething, half-crying, looking completely wild and ready to kill him. "Fuck you! You stupid fucking asshole!"
Terror clenched his insides and he realized his misstep. He went somewhere else, buried his head under his arms and caught her weight as she slammed into him, knocking him back. Feeling like a helpless dog. He took the beating he knew he deserved and simply prayed she would tire herself out. His mind went blank as she bruised and battered him, a mess of fury and sobbing as she used him as a punching bag.
After she'd done all she could, she muttered something about how she couldn't stand to look at him anymore and stormed off, slamming her bedroom door shut.
Good riddance, he told himself, though his heart broke all over again. Pain throbbed through his shoulder and spine where she'd dug into him. Bruised, exhausted, he sunk to the couch in defeat.