Our life wasn't bad together, we didn't have a lot, but we had each other. Marco did odd jobs, worked on people's cars, whatever he could find. I did nails and hair for the neighborhood, I charged way less than the salons, it was enough to cover some supplies and still make a little money.
We would try to stay cool until the sun goes down. Then after washing the soot of the city off of us, we would meet our friends in the street. In the dark by the streetlight, we'd gather. The boys would tell stories, real or imagined, as they kept an arm possessively around their girl. Somehow, there was always money for beer, and the boys would get louder and more aggressive as the night wore on. The fight was usually over something very stupid, and thankfully, it wasn't every time that someone was hurt.
It was when the night ended that I sometimes became afraid. When Marco had too much to drink, he was mean. He would imagine that I smiled at one of his friends, or whispered to them. Those nights he would run his fingers into my hair and ball his fist. He would lead me home by my hair, yanking his hand and swearing. I had to be very careful to keep my eyes down when we were around the other boys.
On other nights, he couldn't keep his hands off me. He would stop to kiss me several times on the way home and shove his big hands up my sides under my shirt. I was embarrassed and saw people looking. He told me that they were just jealous; I don't know maybe they were. He was so drunk one night, and in a good mood, that he had sex with me on the stairs to our building. He said nobody saw us. He was quick that night so maybe he was right.
I have to be extra careful today and make sure he doesn't drink too much. I need him to be in a good mood. Not for the reason you think. I have news for him. He's going to be a father.