HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASSHOLE

Leila sprinkled tiny silver paper stars and small red hearts over the white linen covered dining table, then set it. Candles lit, and all the trimmings of a well-planned dinner awaited him. One quick look in the mirror to make sure she had covered up the finger print bruises that still laid claim to her neck. She smoothed the concealer over it once more just to be sure. Best not to remind him.
Scott pushed the door open and a gust of wind and snow flew in around him. The melting snow dripped off his boots on the carpet as he trudged into the dining room and glared at her. “What the hell is this?”
“Your birthday dinner.” She forced a nervous smile.
“Get me a drink!” He bellowed, as he took his coat off, tossed it onto a nearby chair, then sat.
Dutifully, Leila reached for the bottle of rye from the shelf and an old-fashioned glass off the counter and took it to him.
“Don’t just stand there bitch,” he spit out slowly. Pour it.” His eyes already bloodshot, he wavered in his chair, and then he flipped his plate over on the table, dumping the chicken dinner onto the linen tablecloth and the sparkly decorations. “Oops.” He spit out like a burp.
As she started to pour, he held up his index and middle fingers against the glass. “Two fingers, remember.”
She finished and started to walk away with the bottle.
“Leave it here!”
She placed the bottle in front of him. She noticed his hand moving. She took a step backward just in time as his hand swept out to slap her and missed. He leaned sideways on the chair, his head hanging down. He’d never have the good sense to know when he had enough.
“Goddammit!” He slurred, his eyes rolling, then opening halfway.
He garbled obscenities at her about the dinner and the house as he picked his dinner off the tablecloth with his hands, eating some of the confetti stars with it. She nodded, fearful of reprisal.
Leaving him to his vice, she went up to bed. Leila had been reading a book when he came into the room. He ripped it from her hand and tossed it against a wall. “What shit are you reading?” He yelled, slipping on the scatter rug. Reaching down to brace himself, he walked around to the other side, leg rubbing against the bed for balance.
She watched him get into bed in his clothes. Without warning, he shoved her off the bed and onto the floor. She stayed there for a long time. Tears didn’t come anymore. They had long since abandoned her, as had any hope of happiness.
His snoring echoed through her body like painful vibrations. She stood up and then turned and kneeled on the bed, inching closer to him. Reaching for her pillow, she lifted it high and brought it down over his open mouth and face. “Happy birthday asshole.”