From the Livejournal Account of Gina Spanitelli

by robinhardwick

Sunday

Ugh. I worked at a double shift at the diner and I just got home and thank god Tommy wasn’t home yet so I could enjoy my cigarette in piece and not deal with his bullshit. Although where the fuck is he? It’s past 1am. I know what will happen. He’ll come home stinking of booze and pot, saying he was working late at “the docks.” If that’s even true. If it is true he’d better bring his paycheck with him if he wants to get a handful of anything tonight. And I don’t care if his union has been on strike, or whatever his sorry ass excuses are.

Monday

Back at an early shift at the diner but I feel like shit. Tommy came home at 4am and of course we were up fighting. He came home with no money and a black eye. Tommy and his fucking temper. I threatened to kick him out unless he paid me some rent. I don’t want to hear his bullshit about how if we hold hands and pray it will be alright- and how we already halfway there. Of course we are halfway there- I pay half the fucking rent like I just said.

That’s it. if he doesn’t find a way to start pitching in for the rent, I’m going to take that fucking stupid guitar down to the pawn shop. I swear to God I will.

Tuesday

I did it. I hocked his guitar, but I only got a measly seventy five bucks from it. But I don’t care. Serves him right. Not like he even noticed. He came home at 2am, I was already asleep, but he comes in stinking of booze and god knows what else. He falls right on top of me and tries to undo his belt and have his way, but he’s so drunk he can’t even figure it out. And that’s when I lost it. You ever feel like you have no yell left in you? I just layed there and cried. Finally, when he managed to get his pants off, about 20 minutes later, he finally collapsed on me and whispered “baby, it’s okay.” Yup, it was definitely whiskey on his breath. I had to call Sheila to fill in for me because there is no way I could go into work after this sleepless night.

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