Day One-Ninety-Two: Pantsed

WELL. Today was violent and ill-tempered in general, and not because I found more cockroaches in the cup. That wouldn't make me upset. Just puzzled me. Is it a cockroach graveyard or something? Do they go there to die? Or does somebody figure that's an appropriate place to bury 'em? Something fishy's going on with that cup, diary, I'm telling you right now.

Um. Right. Anyway.

I came home from my shift and found the apartment empty. Biiiiiig surprise, these days. Well, after watching a cupboard for eight hours I was in a pretty foul mood, so I plopped on the bed and waited for Libby to get home, ready to confront her on her dang secret. And why shouldn't I? She's my wife! I have a RIGHT to know what she's doin'! There aren't meant to be secrets between spouses!

'cept for the time I made you and hid you from her, diary. Or the time I told Libby I was going to work when I ACTUALLY had the day off, and I spent five hours playing with ants. Or the time I 'ate' one of her pies by tossing it into the moat. Or the time I promised Libby that I would get a hair cut, when all I REALLY did was slick it into my helmet with some grease and leave it like that for a couple You know, this isn't productive at all, so I'll stop. Nothing I just wrote ever happened. 'kay? 'kay.

Point is, I lie. But that's not the same as what Libby's doing. She's, like, withholding the truth. You know? SHE DOESN'T KNOW I'M LYING. But I know she's withholding the truth! So she's doing the bad thing here. She's being the jerk. It's BETTER to lie, because then you don't make the other person feel left out. And by gods, diary, I feel left OUT.

So when Libby came harrumphing through the doorway, tossing her work gloves on the floor and collapsing on the bed, I was ready. As soon as she got clear of the doorway, I jumped in front and barricaded the way out.

She tried to be so innocent. "Dragomir, what the hell are you doin'?"

I was on to her, though. "I'm on to you, Libby. Where you goin' every night? I KNOW you don't work that late. And I'm not moving 'til you give me an answer!"

Libby hadn't planned on leaving. I discovered that seconds after I jumped in front of the door. Telling her she COULDN'T, though, made her pretty damn cross, and she expressed her discontent by throwing YOU at me, diary! Went in the cupboard and everything!

I caught you right in the stomach, and after I'd gotten my breath back I started yelling. "What'd you do that for, ya crazy douche?! Leave my diary outta this!"

"No!" Libby crossed the room (easy to do, only took three steps) and PUNCHED you! Straight into my abdomen! "What I do with my time is my business! You don't force me to tell you NUTHIN', ya useless sack!"

"Oh… oh yeah?" By now I was on the floor, but I heroically refused to move! "Well… well… you're gonna have to kill… KILL me, then! 'cause I won't get away from this door… this… urp, that really hurt… this door, 'til you tell me what you've been… been… doin'!"

I thought I was pretty awesome in this moment. Steadfast. Cool. Layin' down the line. Unfortunately, I forgot that Libby's a lot stronger than me, and all she had to do was kick me out of the way. Then she stormed out, even though she wanted to stay home. I think she did it to spite me.

I wasn't giving up, though. I followed. Grabbed her leg and held on while she tore down the hallway of our apartment building. She swore at me, and I swore back, and we kept this up 'til we were out in front of the building. Clunked me down every step. I might have cracked my jaw. It hurts a lot right now.

By this point I'd almost pulled her pants all the way down to her ankles, and a little crowd that had followed us was hootin' at her, so I agreed to let her go if she would stop fighting and talk. She did. Up went her pants, off we ran to a quiet spot - but only after she told everyone to fuck off. They did. Nobody messes with Libby.

We used a little back alley between two houses to yell it out. I'll tell you what we said without going into the physical details, though I'll add here that there were more than a few gut and crotch attacks:

"You've got me here. I'm still not sayin' shit to you, Dragomir."

"Why? What's so important that you can't tell your husband? I'm dyin', here! Details, you hag!"

"Don't you call me a fucking

Okay, maybe I should skip ahead. I forgot we went through another dragging contest and a move to ANOTHER alley before we got to the actual conversation. By this point Libby was actually sorry for hitting me so much, 'cause I was bleeding a lot. Her boots are probably a little red today.

"You should really give this up. I don't wanna hurt you anymore. You usually stop after a few hits! What is with you?"

"This's… this's… important… I just… bet…"

"But why? Why do you care so much that I'm a little late getting' home?!"

"'cause… 'cause… I like… socks… martini socks…"

(My brain wasn't workin' so well.)

"Ugh." She sat beside me, propping my head on her lap. "Fine. You probably won't remember 'cause of brain damage, so why not? I was lookin' for a way to help Daena."

"Th'… th'… marigold…?"

"The wha?"

"Nursery butters…"

"I'd better get you to a doctor after this. The queen, you twit." She stroked my hair. It felt much nicer than the jabbing pain in my pancreas. "Been… studyin'. For an idea I had. Wanted to keep it a surprise 'til I was done."

"Jab wrenches?"

"Just shut up. You keep spittin' blood on my overalls when you talk." She sighed. "I kinda gave the king the idea for his contest. Was talkin' to one of his fancy 'experts', 'n he overheard. Guess he figured givin' me competition would make me hurry up."

"But that's enough." She heaved me onto her shoulder. "I'll get you to a doctor. 'n I'll bring you your stupid diary. I know you like writin' in that thing."

So here I am, in a hospital bed, still in pain, but not doin' too badly. (I knew Libby would go nuts, so I padded my armour to soften her blows. Helped a little bit.) And I have an explanation, so my plan worked.

Kinda.

Not really. My pee looked like cranberry juice. I'm glad my head cleared before I went to the washroom. Mighta tried to drink the stuff. I get weird when I'm knocked loopy.

Libby gave me a couple answers, but she raised more questions. What's she planning? How is she studying? Why's she wanna help the queen? And why did she have to beat me so harshly in order to keep her secret? Yarrrr, things to ponder.

It was nice of her to bring me you, though, diary. I know Libby's harsh whenever she talks about you, but I think she'd have fun writing in you. If she ever learned to write, that is. Or read.

…

Studying…

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard