Just Muse Me 21.3.1 Enough is Enough
"Enough is enough">
"Enough," she said, proud of the fact that her voice was strong and didn't tremble. "Enough is enough."
Jesse's face did several things at once, conveying at the same time that he was hurt by her ultimatum and that he thought she was being unreasonable and that he regretted ever having taken up with this crazy bitch. The last part might have been her imagination, but she didn't think so. Some of what they'd been yelling at each other the past few days had had bite behind it.
"Enough of what, Pam, huh?" One hand gestured around at the mess they'd left from their last fight and the make-up sex afterwards. Which had been vigorous, and fun, but still not enough to make her forget the things he'd said. "Enough of all this? Me getting sidelined so you can go dance naked in the woods with your buddies, sexing up God knows who..."
She wanted to throw something at him. "Is that all you can do? You can't come up with any other good reason to hate me so you pick on my religion? That's sad, Jess, that's really sad, and that's really low."
"Well, what do you expect? It's not like you ever came up with a good explanation why you people do what you do, all you do is say it's just a pagan thing, I wouldn't understand, I can't..."
"I invited you to ritual!"
"Yeah, so I can stand around in a goofy looking robe listening to a Star Wars Reject."
Her mouth twisted. She was not going to cry, not anymore. Not in front of him at least if she couldn't manage to keep from crying over him. "It's Lord of the Rings, you dumb fuck."
Jesse even looked hurt at that. Maybe because she was correcting him again, and she'd done that a lot. A whole lot. Maybe more than she should have, maybe enough that she should have noticed when a lot of his assumptions seemed to be based on only surface looks at things and a lot of his opinions didn't seem to be grounded in any kind of actual fact. He liked french fries and NASCAR because the people he'd grown up with said he should. He hated Iraqis, if he knew who or what they were, and terrorists, and Mexican drug dealers (most of the drug dealers in this county weren't even from south of the border) because that was what the news said he should do. He didn't bother to look deeper into anything else.
"See, you always do that, Pammy..."
"Don't fucking call me Pammy."
"... you keep correcting me, like you know everything. Like you know all this shit already." He was getting angry. Telling him about the nickname had been a bad idea. "You don't know as much as you think you do, kid, and you ain't as smart as you think you are. And you're just going to throw all this away? That ain't smart."
"All this? What do we even have anymore, huh? You won't listen to me, far as I can tell you don't listen to anyone. You're stubborn, and you don't take advice, that's why we got into trouble in the first place."
"No, you being an ignorant sonofabitch is why we got into trouble in the first place. You insulted my friend, you kept on insulting him because you see a happy couple and you go eew, he's sticking his thing into this other guy's thing, and ..."
"That's disgusting, Pam."
"You're disgusting. You're an ass, you're a bigoted jerkwad, and I don't know..." One hand pushed through her hair as she turned and paced in a slow circle around the table. His eyes and her tattoo were burning into her back. "God, Jess, I don't even know why I fell in love with you in the first place. That's how bad it is, do you even know how bad that is? That I can't point out one single redeeming quality you have that might mean this wasn't a huge mistake?"
Saying that might have been another huge mistake; his face twisted and crumpled as though what she'd said actually hurt him. She wondered if it had. She wondered if it hurt his heart or his ego more, if he cared about her enough to be hurt that she would feel that or if he was just upset because she didn't want to be with him. When his face started to smooth out mere seconds later she decided it was his ego. That hurt alone was enough to make the backs of her eyes start stinging again.
"That's ... see, that's what your problem is, Pam. You think you're better than everyone else. You think that just because you can't see a reason why we should be together means there isn't one, you think that just because I can't get along with your friends or your religion means we're a mistake. Couples have problems, kid, you told me that, but they work out their problems instead of just stamping their feet and running off."
She gaped at him. Not only was that smarter than she would have given him credit for, it was far too close to home. "Problems? You... you think this is what we have, is problems, because I'm stubborn and I do... you don't respect me, Jess, that's what pisses me off. You don't even try to understand, you don't respect me, or my friends, or my faith, just because I don't go to church and have nice clean-cut white friends like you do."
"So, what, now I'm a racist? Is that what you think, I'm a skinhead..."
"No, Jess, I don't think you're a skinhead..."
"... because you know me, Pam, you ..."
"Jess, that's not what I meant..."
"... know I'm not a racist, god, Pam, I can't believe you..."
"Stop!" At the top of her lungs, too. The atmosphere was getting too thick in here, too choked with negative vibes, she couldn't breathe. "Just... stop. Please." She was crying. She hadn't wanted to cry in front of him. God, she was pissed. Tired and hurting and pissed.
He stopped. Watched her, and she saw through her hair and lowered lashes and gummy eyes that she was scrubbing frantically that he was coming towards her. Probably going to try and make up with her again. She couldn't let him. She'd let him, and it would be okay for a few days, and then it would go back to the little things he did, little comments that he made, little ways he brushed her off or disrespected her or didn't pay attention or called what she did weird voodoo shit, all that. The mistake she made, she realized, was deciding that because he fit so well into one aspect of her life he must fit equally well into all aspects. It just wasn't true. It would have been nice, but it wasn't true.
"Pammy... sorry, Pam. Pamela..." His hand covered her shoulder. "Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"I know." She reached up, patted his hand, and then made herself drop her hand again and step away. Enough is enough, remember? It was over. It had to be. "I know, Jess. But we don't work together. Maybe we never did, I don't know. It was good in the beginning." That was as close as she'd allow to taking back anything she'd said. They had had some good times, a lot of good times, in the beginning.
He just stood there like a bump on a log. He wasn't moving, and she needed him to get out of the house so she could finally break down and cry and take however long it took to let this go. Hopefully it wouldn't take that long. The part of her that knew it would take a long while was just barely louder than the part of her that shrieked she'd be fine in a day, goddammit.
"So, you're..."
"Serious. Yes. Please, Jess, just go."
Pam didn't know how long she stood there, pointedly and stubbornly (which just proved his point, didn't it?) not looking at him, how many times he tried to say something and gave up before he could get more than a sound out. Finally he was gone, and the door had closed behind him, and she could pound feet up the stairs to her room and slam the door all she wanted, rattling the perfume jars and jewelry and figurines on her dresser, slam the door shut and cry into her pillows till her head ached as much as her heart.
"Enough," she said, proud of the fact that her voice was strong and didn't tremble. "Enough is enough."
Jesse's face did several things at once, conveying at the same time that he was hurt by her ultimatum and that he thought she was being unreasonable and that he regretted ever having taken up with this crazy bitch. The last part might have been her imagination, but she didn't think so. Some of what they'd been yelling at each other the past few days had had bite behind it.
"Enough of what, Pam, huh?" One hand gestured around at the mess they'd left from their last fight and the make-up sex afterwards. Which had been vigorous, and fun, but still not enough to make her forget the things he'd said. "Enough of all this? Me getting sidelined so you can go dance naked in the woods with your buddies, sexing up God knows who..."
She wanted to throw something at him. "Is that all you can do? You can't come up with any other good reason to hate me so you pick on my religion? That's sad, Jess, that's really sad, and that's really low."
"Well, what do you expect? It's not like you ever came up with a good explanation why you people do what you do, all you do is say it's just a pagan thing, I wouldn't understand, I can't..."
"I invited you to ritual!"
"Yeah, so I can stand around in a goofy looking robe listening to a Star Wars Reject."
Her mouth twisted. She was not going to cry, not anymore. Not in front of him at least if she couldn't manage to keep from crying over him. "It's Lord of the Rings, you dumb fuck."
Jesse even looked hurt at that. Maybe because she was correcting him again, and she'd done that a lot. A whole lot. Maybe more than she should have, maybe enough that she should have noticed when a lot of his assumptions seemed to be based on only surface looks at things and a lot of his opinions didn't seem to be grounded in any kind of actual fact. He liked french fries and NASCAR because the people he'd grown up with said he should. He hated Iraqis, if he knew who or what they were, and terrorists, and Mexican drug dealers (most of the drug dealers in this county weren't even from south of the border) because that was what the news said he should do. He didn't bother to look deeper into anything else.
"See, you always do that, Pammy..."
"Don't fucking call me Pammy."
"... you keep correcting me, like you know everything. Like you know all this shit already." He was getting angry. Telling him about the nickname had been a bad idea. "You don't know as much as you think you do, kid, and you ain't as smart as you think you are. And you're just going to throw all this away? That ain't smart."
"All this? What do we even have anymore, huh? You won't listen to me, far as I can tell you don't listen to anyone. You're stubborn, and you don't take advice, that's why we got into trouble in the first place."
"No, you being an ignorant sonofabitch is why we got into trouble in the first place. You insulted my friend, you kept on insulting him because you see a happy couple and you go eew, he's sticking his thing into this other guy's thing, and ..."
"That's disgusting, Pam."
"You're disgusting. You're an ass, you're a bigoted jerkwad, and I don't know..." One hand pushed through her hair as she turned and paced in a slow circle around the table. His eyes and her tattoo were burning into her back. "God, Jess, I don't even know why I fell in love with you in the first place. That's how bad it is, do you even know how bad that is? That I can't point out one single redeeming quality you have that might mean this wasn't a huge mistake?"
Saying that might have been another huge mistake; his face twisted and crumpled as though what she'd said actually hurt him. She wondered if it had. She wondered if it hurt his heart or his ego more, if he cared about her enough to be hurt that she would feel that or if he was just upset because she didn't want to be with him. When his face started to smooth out mere seconds later she decided it was his ego. That hurt alone was enough to make the backs of her eyes start stinging again.
"That's ... see, that's what your problem is, Pam. You think you're better than everyone else. You think that just because you can't see a reason why we should be together means there isn't one, you think that just because I can't get along with your friends or your religion means we're a mistake. Couples have problems, kid, you told me that, but they work out their problems instead of just stamping their feet and running off."
She gaped at him. Not only was that smarter than she would have given him credit for, it was far too close to home. "Problems? You... you think this is what we have, is problems, because I'm stubborn and I do... you don't respect me, Jess, that's what pisses me off. You don't even try to understand, you don't respect me, or my friends, or my faith, just because I don't go to church and have nice clean-cut white friends like you do."
"So, what, now I'm a racist? Is that what you think, I'm a skinhead..."
"No, Jess, I don't think you're a skinhead..."
"... because you know me, Pam, you ..."
"Jess, that's not what I meant..."
"... know I'm not a racist, god, Pam, I can't believe you..."
"Stop!" At the top of her lungs, too. The atmosphere was getting too thick in here, too choked with negative vibes, she couldn't breathe. "Just... stop. Please." She was crying. She hadn't wanted to cry in front of him. God, she was pissed. Tired and hurting and pissed.
He stopped. Watched her, and she saw through her hair and lowered lashes and gummy eyes that she was scrubbing frantically that he was coming towards her. Probably going to try and make up with her again. She couldn't let him. She'd let him, and it would be okay for a few days, and then it would go back to the little things he did, little comments that he made, little ways he brushed her off or disrespected her or didn't pay attention or called what she did weird voodoo shit, all that. The mistake she made, she realized, was deciding that because he fit so well into one aspect of her life he must fit equally well into all aspects. It just wasn't true. It would have been nice, but it wasn't true.
"Pammy... sorry, Pam. Pamela..." His hand covered her shoulder. "Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"I know." She reached up, patted his hand, and then made herself drop her hand again and step away. Enough is enough, remember? It was over. It had to be. "I know, Jess. But we don't work together. Maybe we never did, I don't know. It was good in the beginning." That was as close as she'd allow to taking back anything she'd said. They had had some good times, a lot of good times, in the beginning.
He just stood there like a bump on a log. He wasn't moving, and she needed him to get out of the house so she could finally break down and cry and take however long it took to let this go. Hopefully it wouldn't take that long. The part of her that knew it would take a long while was just barely louder than the part of her that shrieked she'd be fine in a day, goddammit.
"So, you're..."
"Serious. Yes. Please, Jess, just go."
Pam didn't know how long she stood there, pointedly and stubbornly (which just proved his point, didn't it?) not looking at him, how many times he tried to say something and gave up before he could get more than a sound out. Finally he was gone, and the door had closed behind him, and she could pound feet up the stairs to her room and slam the door all she wanted, rattling the perfume jars and jewelry and figurines on her dresser, slam the door shut and cry into her pillows till her head ached as much as her heart.