A month or two passed.
Every now and then Paul would find Johnny. Or maybe Johnny would find him. The circumstances were always pretty coincidental, but welcome. Johnny felt wanted, whenever Paul would show up for a night and have amazing, mind-blowing sex with him. They would end up at motels, in the backseat in an empty parking lot, in places where it felt like they could die and no one would know, and Paul made him feel like he was living for a little while. It kept him satisfied since Julianna barely let him into her pants anymore, and the stress of her constant demands and their relationship in general was wearing him thin. The worst part was how utterly amazing it felt to let go, to be Paul's relief, his willing prisoner. Johnny had never done anything so incredibly depraved, so hot, in his entire life. The secrecy of it all made him even more desperate and eager, as if he was betraying society itself, willingly doing something terribly obscene and filthy with another man.
Back home, things only continued to worsen, and Julianna seemed to ignore him most days. Anger had manifested itself as a chilly nature, which turned into withdrawal of her affection. Shrugged off, at first, until Johnny would have enough and tell her, in no uncertain terms, to stop being a bitch.
That just prompted fire instead. Anger, raging fights. They only happened at home. Slapping him around. They would argue, and Johnny would often forget his place and want to hit her back. Still, his upbringing made him a firm believer in never raising a hand against a woman, and that always encouraged her. Something she could step on in her vicious, angry rage, in her black clouds of emotions. Using her fists. Weaker than he was, but angry, passionate, throwing herself around as they argued, pushing, hitting.
He never retaliated. He did not hit her. Perhaps he could have, but he didn't. He would turn and leave. Escape, get outside, get air. Go to bars, prowl around. Spend a few hours in the comforting aura of intoxication. It only fueled her rage. She couldn't stand it when he left.
Then she'd ignore him, and perhaps apologize in her quiet, contrite way. Apologize, turn herself back into the woman she once was, with demure eyelashes and begging kisses and promises that she'd not be so difficult, it had just been a very bad week. All day. All night. Again and again. She never kept her word. Always, it went back to fighting and bitter screaming matches and slapping and sometimes biting, wrestling on the floor. A cat fight and his mother's teachings and guilt, always guilt, and anger, and needing to escape, drunk.
"Are we still going out?" he asked one evening.
"Out? I thought you was makin' dinner?" Doe eyes shot over the edge of the novel she was reading, half-nude form wrapped in nothing but a large, faded brown and blue t-shirt. One of Johnny's. Normal for her, trailer trash hippie that she was, with her dirty feet and wild hair, skin covered in freckles.
"No, I'm...I really don't feel like cooking tonight." He tried, hoping her pissy mood would back off. "S'been a long week."
"I just went grocery shopping the other day." She seemed offended.
"Really? Goddamn, fine. Whatever." He looked away from her and sat back down on the couch, fingers immediately fumbling for a cigarette. Trying to quell the ever-present itch.
"Please? C'mon bug, I'll give you head." Pretty, big puppy eyes looking up from under thick lashes. She smiled a moment, then seemed annoyed, likely with herself. She hated begging. "Please, honey?"
"You'll suck my dick if I make you dinner?"
"Well...don't put it like that, y'know..." Annoyed, Julianna looked down at her book, nibbling the nail of her forefinger. "God, you're such a fuckin' asshole." The words held no malice, though the tone was snappish. She pouted, making the dimple show more than normal, and something inside him gave a pang. Damn him for not hating her.
"Sorry." He swallowed, shoving the cigarette pack aside. "What're you thinking to eat?"
She glanced over, then settled back into the book. "I bought the stuff for those paninis. Can y'make those?"
"Whatever you want," he mumbled. He did the majority of the cooking, including washing the dishes when they were finished eating. Some nights it bothered him more than others, and he didn't feel like playing the domestic game, but it was his thanks for being able to stay with her. The constant threat of being thrown out stayed in the back of his mind when he had these quiet, dour thoughts. Especially since he wasn't making a lot of money, and part of it was almost always set aside to send to his mother; some way to still take care of his sisters even after moving out.
Those few dollars were on the list of what she hated most, he suspected.
So he made dinner. Went through the motions. The radio set up on the counter, singing or humming along, trying to focus on food, not her. Music was a lifeline. It set his mood. Detached himself from the situation, spacing out. A good chunk of a bottle of wine down by the time dinner was finished. He was buzzing, tipsy, feeling slightly better.
"Well?"
"Ain't bad," Julianna replied as she ate. Manners in public or in front of company, but alone with him, she acted like she'd grown up in a barn.
He pushed through, took a few bites, and cleaned up, letting her go about her night however she wanted, ignoring her as she slid next to him on the couch, her freckled thighs sliding out from under the oversized shirt. Noticing the hint of lacy panties. Showing off, but still hiding away. A sultry, casual tease.
"Since when did you wear lace panties?" he asked, a little hazy, staring forward at a mindless TV show. Trying to ignore her. He didn't feel like sex, and didn't really care much for her attitude that night.
"Since yesterday," she murmured, reaching over to the pack of cigarettes on the table.
"They don't look good on you."
"Like you'd know." She snapped lightly. "Maybe I wanted to try somethin' different. Maybe I wanna feel more ladylike."
"I think you're beautiful with less on."
"And I think you're annoying, so we'll leave it there." Julianna smoked her cigarette for a few minutes, then shifted slightly. "Still want that blowjob?"
The sex was fine. It didn't last very long. Twenty minutes tops. Afterward, he thanked her, and then promptly fell asleep, the alcohol making him heavy, aching for sweet nothingness.