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up instinctively to protect herself from any object that might fly in her direction. Her tears soaked through her collar.
"What the heck is wrong with you?" There was barely any emotion in his voice. His tone was an icy growl. He kept his eyes shut tight. He looked like he was struggling though a migraine. He did have headaches, but right now he just could not bring himself to look at her. He was ashamed of who he had become. He had to push her away to escape the unbearable pity she had for him. Jenny wept openly. How dare she pity him? The thought laced its way through his brain.

"Why don't you try to"
"Why don't I try to what?" Floodgates of tormented emotion erupted. "To what? Get up from this filthy stinking bed? What? You want me to be nicer?"
"Bobby?"
"Bobby, what? Huh? Why can't you just leave me be for once? What? You want me to go on a walk with you smell flowers, hold your hand?"
The torrent continued, but Jenny's tears slowed. Her heavy sobs of fear had turned to little drops of anger running down her cheeks. Everyday he would berate her just for caring. He had done it to everyone who bothered to care a little. They cared, and he drove them away. Jenny was the only one left. She had loved the other Bobby once, the 'before' Bobby. She hated the 'new' Bobby. All that was left were a few tenuous strands of what they once were to each other. The love they had shared. Those strands that remained were weakening quickly.
"Damn it, Bobby. Do you have to do this everyday?" She ran from the bedroom, grabbing at the door behind her. It slammed hard and bounced back open harder, cracking the lifeless blue plaster wall. Then it swung back slowly and closed. The latch caught softly, like a thunder crack in the silence. He was alone except for Jenny's distant footsteps at the front door. He heard the front door open. Then the door closed normally. Bobby was alone, again.
*
Jenny half sat, half collapsed on the porch steps. She cried into her hands. The tall hedges hid the front porch, and Jenny, from the view of most neighbors. Only the lady walking her dog past the front walkway of the little storybook cottage saw the young girl crying on the steps. The white picket fence completed the faade that hid the pain and torment that was tearing two lives to shreds.
With effort, Jenny shut her emotions deep inside. She dried her swollen eyes with her shirtsleeve. Strands of hair, pulled from her hair ribbon fell and stuck to her damp cheeks in disarray. She attempted

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