He screamed. She cried. Words carried through vents and walls. Mean words. Harsh. Yelling about how much he loved her. Pots and pans thrown. A butcher’s knife pulled from a wooden block. Threats.

What’re you doing this for? Sneaking around on me. Who is he?

There’s no one, she said. It’s a figment of your imagination.

I’ve seen him. I’ve seen the two of you.

You’ve seen ghosts. You’re hallucinating. I stay here all day. Sleeping off the night before, she told him.

You’re lying. Never honest. That’s what this junk does to you. Makes you lie. It seeps into your blood and destroys whatever goodness there is.

You do it too.

Only on the weekends when I want to relax. It doesn’t affect me the way it does you. You become this animal. Something I can’t control, he banged his fist on the kitchen counter while holding the blade in his other hand.

Are you going to kill me? she asked. Sometimes, I wish you would.