Alexander

The key turned in the lock with the familiar, unpleasant grinding sound. I entered the apartment, which smelled of dampness and some floral air freshener she'd bought last week. It was irritating. Everything about this place—from these curtains to the ring on my finger—felt false and cramped.

I'm twenty-two. My friends are hanging out in bars or driving cars, and I... I'm going "home" to a woman I didn't choose.

I tossed my keys on the nightstand and, without taking off my shoes, walked into the kitchen. She was sitting there, at the small table we'd bought with our parents' shared money. That silence again, the kind you could cut with a knife. She didn't even look up, but I could feel the tension in her skin.

"Are you sitting there again with that face like I'm holding you hostage?" I snapped, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. My voice sounded harsher than I'd intended, but I wasn't about to apologize. "My parents called. They're expecting us for dinner tomorrow. We'll have to play the happy family again, so get your most 'lovey-dovey' dress ready."

I took a sip of water, feeling the familiar irritation boiling inside me. We'd been living in this one-room apartment for a month now, sleeping under separate blankets and barely exchanging a few words, which always ended in an argument.

I leaned my hands on the tabletop, looking down at her.

"Listen," I narrowed my eyes, peering into her face. "You're sick of this too, right? But we both know that if one of us quits now, our elders wouldn't survive it. So let's just... just don't act like you're the victim here. We're both in this hole."

I waited for her to respond with something sarcastic, as usual, or simply walk into the room, slamming the door. But instead, I just stood there and stared at her, feeling the tiny kitchen shrink to the size of a cage.