Unravel by Samantha Romero

1
     
    I wrung out my dripping , knotty hair, listening to the plink plink sounds of the water land     on the cracked tiles beneath my feet. I was fuming—bubbling with red anger. “I’ll give you a fight,” I growled as I kicked off my shoes and slammed the door behind me, running down the stairs as fast as I could.
     
    “Daniel!!” I screamed as I stormed out onto the wet pavement, my knuckles turning white from clenching.
     
    He turned around and smiled. “Darlin’! I was wondering how much longer you would leave me out here waiting. You look… angry.”
     
    I raised my eyebrows and blustered towards him, shouting, “Oh I do, do I? How smart of you to bloody notice.”
     
    “Calm down, darlin’,” he said in a hushed tone. “You’ll catch a chill—here take my umbrella, it’s pouring. We should get you inside.”
     
    “Are you insane ?” I screamed, pushing his umbrella away from me as the rain streamed down my face. A rumble of thunder shook the skies above us.
     
    Thinking back, it must have looked pretty dramatic. I wonder if anyone filmed it? All they would have needed to do was add thick smoke flaring from my nostrils, and put some upbeat remix behind my verbal diarrhea, and I’d be the next YouTube sensation.
     
    “When did you give that interview?” I demanded.
     
    His eyes dropped to the ground. “Oh, so you saw it.”
     
    I stood inches away from him, screaming my lungs out as I glared furiously into his deep, blue eyes. “Of course, I freaking saw it! You were on the front page of the bloody paper, proclaiming your love for your fucking wife.”
     
    He put his hand on my shoulder, trying to pacify me. “Come on, let’s get you inside. People are starting to stare.”
     
    “People? PEOPLE?” I screamed. “You’ve never worried about people before. Why worry about them now, Daniel? What’s changed?”
     
    I turned away, stomping back to the bottom of the stairs. When I reached them, I turned around and shrieked. “When did you give that interview? Tell me when?”
     
    He looked at the ground as the rain continued to fall in sheets around us. “It’s not important, Siena—it doesn’t even matter.”
     
    “WHEN?” I yelled.
     
    “Friday.”
     
    I leaned forward whispering, “What?”
     
    “Um—Friday.”
     
    I ran forward, gritting my teeth. My blood felt like it was literally bubbling in my chest as it rushed to my head. I thought I might explode into a thousand pieces and be scattered in the rain like a broken jigsaw puzzle. “You SCREWED me on Saturday.” I shook my fist at him. “ SATURDAY! The very next damn day!”
     
    “Siena,” he said in a dulcet tone, “darlin’, please calm down.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
     
    “Get your hand off me, you son of a bitch!” I reached up and slapped his face as hard as I could. That beautiful, stubble-dusted face of his. He was the first person—soul—that I had ever slapped or done anything violent against. Anger can give one such passion, courage, insanity .
     
    WHACK.
     
    “Ouch!” he said with a chuckle, rubbing his dark stubble as a red mark bloomed beneath his hand. “God, Siena, is it wrong for me to be fully turned on right now? You are so sexy when you’re mad and soaking wet. Say you’ll come back with me to the ‘otel.”
     
    “FUCK OFF!” I roared, running up the stairs and slamming the door behind me.
     
    Stripping my sodden wet t-shirt off in fury and trying the best I could to peel off my soaked jeans, I stomped into the bathroom, pulled the rusty, glass door open, turned on the shower, and stepped in.
     
    As the warm water trickled down my naked body, I lifted my face, letting the warmth sprinkle across it and roll down my cheekbones. I could feel the anger washing away down the drain along with the soapy, pink suds I lathered over my body.
     
    Then the anger was replaced with a new emotion: Sadness.
     
    Red turned to blue—pools of dark blue, and I started