He did it in the most inconvenient moments. When I least expected it the firing of his joints hit me, that disgusting crack and click of which he was addicted to. And it wasn’t only his fingers, no, his pastime had escalated to cracking his foot, back, knees, elbows. It was a constant; while we watched a movie, when we went out to eat. Even in the silence of the night, interrupted with his stressful crunching that made my skin crawl and tempted me into bashing my head against the walls.

One day when I was particularly tired, while we watched the most recent episode of that new popular show, he stretched his hands as usual and started to crack his fingers. One by one. I told him to stop the noise. He ignored me, so I also stretched my hands, wrapped them around his neck, and twisted abruptly.

It’s the only time I’ve enjoyed hearing something crack.


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