SG Vol. 1 pt. 35 (Patreon)

Sure, I’m being forced to take a few days off for recovery. While I wouldn’t normally complain about something like this since it means getting to spend more time with Naomi…

Kate’s work got pretty fucked up during the attack.

So, as I’m trying to watch the news while Naomi is at school… I have to deal with Kate sitting on the couch with her legs over mine as she does her nails.

Even after telling her how my leg got fucked up and is part of what’s supposed to be recovering, she thinks it’s fine as long as she doesn’t move it around.

Hitting her isn’t worth the legal trouble nor pain of having to move to do it, and there’s nothing else to do, so here I am.

“So, you can’t go back for a few days?” Kate asks.

“How many times do I have to tell you that?” I ask her back. “You could at least make it less obvious you want me out of here. Fuck, just let me relax.”

“Calm down, big boy. I’m just asking a damn question. All I want to know is how long I have to put up with listening to this morbid shit on the news.”

“And you? How long until you actually have to get out of the house and go back to work?”

“They said it’ll be at least a couple of weeks before they’re repaired and restocked, so I have some nice, paid time off until then,” she answers with a smug look and annoying voice that makes me want to tape her mouth shut.

Mom is passed out from her pills, so this is one of the only times I’m able to watch the news.

Kate does have a point. It’s pretty morbid shit.

“The good news,” the news reporter says, “is that all power stations are fully operational and repairs were completed ahead of schedule. More than ninety percent of debris has been cleared from urban areas and is already being recycled for future building materials. However, the death toll continues to rise and this may be the single greatest loss of civilian life from the VRAG since the evacuations of the West Coast. The president will hold a ceremony tomorrow in honor of those who have lost their lives, and you will be able to watch it live here on—”

“No shit, where else are we going to watch it?” I ask.

News reporters say the dumbest shit. Even when it comes to talking about a funeral for everybody who died, they feel the need to advertise themselves. It’s not like there are dozens of competing news corporations all fighting over who gets to watch what. There’s fucking two of them, and nobody even watches that other one.

Fucking greedy bastards.

“Can you rub my feet? They’re sore,” Kate says.

“Seriously?” I ask her.

“Yeah, come on. You used to do it for me all the time when we were younger, remember?”

Yeah, I remember, but that doesn’t mean shit when you’re not the girl that I remember dating as a stupid, young punk. “No.”

“Come on, don’t be a dick.”

“Remind me which one of us almost died.”

“We all almost died. Are you forgetting the entire island was attacked or something? Stop trying to one-up me all the time, it’s annoying. Just give me a foot massage,” she says, wiggling her feet on my lap.

“You’re seriously pissing me off.”

“Everything pisses you off, Mr. Grouch. If anything, you being pissed off all the time is why I’m always getting pissed off. You’re supposed to be relaxing right now and refuse to, so no shit you’re pissed off.”

I can feel my face twitching and cringing despite how hard I’m trying not to give in to her provocations.

“Rub your own damn feet,” I tell her, trying not to shout. Last thing I need to do is wake up Mom after all the stress she’s been through this past week.

“God, why’d I even marry you,” Kate says. “You remember how many boys wanted me? You should see the looks I get at work even now. But I chose you. Now you’re like this.”

“You married me because I was the only one dumb enough to do more than just look at you, and now you’re living nice and happy as a breeder who doesn’t even breed.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Not into that. Go pick up one of those boys checking you out as you bag their groceries if you want to strap a cock on.”

The pain I know I’m about to feel is worth it.

Kate lifts up her feet to swing them down against my injured leg, hitting it with her heels, before getting up from the couch and storming off into the bedroom to probably gather her things so she can go out. I have no idea where she’s going to go, but – yep, here she is, coming out with her purse and everything.

“Fuck you,” she spits at me before going to put on her shoes.

Then, just before she’s about to leave, she picks up the television’s remote to switch it off and tosses it across the room away from me.

I want to call her a bitch, but I’ll take some pride in pissing her off this much instead.

Besides, I just got her out of the house.

The door gets slammed shut and now I’m free.

My leg hurts, but again, it’s worth it.

Guess I won’t be watching any more television since I’m too lazy to go and pick the remote up.

At least my phone is still working, even if the top left corner of the screen got fucked up during the fight.

That means I can listen to some nice, relaxing, classical music and take a nap until Naomi is home.

Maybe I’ll take her out for some ice cream later.

I doubt she’d let me take her out anywhere. She knows I’m hurt, so she’s probably going to demand I stay at home to rest even more than Clover was.

Can’t text that annoying mechanic girl to bring over supplies to make sundaes, either. She’s going to be swamped for the next couple of weeks getting all of the units back into working order.

Clover made me put her number into my phone so that I could immediately contact her if anything is wrong… but she’s busy and I don’t want to trouble her after everything she’s done for me the past few days.

I’m not asking Zane.

Sorry, Naomi, but I guess we’re not going to have sundaes since I know you’ll be too stubborn to let me leave.

My phone buzzes.

It’s an unknown number.

…

Really?