Finest Hour

“Yesterday was not my finest hour,” Greg said into the microphone.  As I listened to his new recording, I started to wonder what he was going to do next.  Would he confess his sins or just the ones for he which he had been caught?  I knew I shouldn’t be listening to his confession, but since I knew he was recording, I would probably hear the entire confession at some point. 

Before I knew it, I heard the recorder click off and Greg was pushing his chair away from his desk.  I silently thanked myself for filling the hallway with thick rugs so he couldn’t hear my footsteps down the hall.  I jumped on my bed and pulled the library book I had just checked out off my nightstand.  As soon as I saved enough money for a deposit and two months rent, I was planning to move out. 

Living with Greg was becoming too demanding on my ability to live a normal life.  His mood swings depended on what food was in the fridge, but yet, he refused to do any grocery shopping.  I knew he was capable, he just believed, as a man, he shouldn’t have to.  That it was my job.  But before I could disappear from his life completely, I needed that recording.  It was the only thing that would completely clear my name.