WHAT YOU WROTE WAS AMAZING PLS IM SOBBING I LOVE IT SO MUCH GIVING U SMOOCHES
but okay so you sleep by yourself that night he comes home. you know he goes out with the boys — mostly on the weekends but sometimes the weekdays too — so when he comes home just a bit later than usual it doesn’t ring any alarm bells even if you pout a little. and you damn near run into his arms and snuggle into his neck only to smell — not him. something, someone else has touched what you thought was yours.
you pull back from the hug to look him over further. clothes mussed up, lips looking like they were bitten, a little flushed. a little like when you two —
you swallow thickly, throat lining with glass and tears as you suck in a breath. you find that you can’t actually form words for a moment, worried that only bile and venom would come out.
“did you fuck someone?”
he looks panicked — guilty — and you don’t even need him to say it for you to know what he’s done.
“who?” you ask, voice barely there, only able to be heard over the icy silence that followed your question. he replies one of the other pets. you nod, more to yourself than anything, trying not to scream your heart out at him.
but your heart cracks the moment he opens his mouth.
for the first time since you began living with him, you slept alone.
(you did scream at him. tripping over your words and panicked breaths and streams of tears. how could he do this. he didn’t call, didn’t ask. did he even think to? did he even care?)
you’re exhausted. too tired crying like you’ve never cried before, feeling like the weight of betrayal is crushing you as you sleep.
you almost fear that it’ll kill you.
the next day — friday — he knocks on your door before he goes to work. he tells you to have a good day. you don’t acknowledge him.
but you miss him. you absolutely fucking hate him but you miss him so much, it hurts. that particular ache is almost worse than the one of betrayal.
almost.
by mid day, you figure you should give him a chance to talk. he obviously feels guilty, and you love him. despite everything, you love him.
so you clean yourself up and try to look a little pretty for him, wearing a cute slip lingerie dress and bows on your ears.
you clean up around the flat a little. you fold his clothes — he’s been grumbling about it lately and always say he’d do it later. so you do it for him, folded with precision and left to sit on the edge of the bed.
you’re still upset and anxious and everything in between. the nerves make it hard to feel anything and you feel too sick to eat. but you nibble on some bread, knowing he wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself. you love him.
when it starts getting later, you decide to make him his favorite cookies. it’s been awhile since you’ve made him anything, and you’ve always enjoyed making these for him. the sweetest kisses tend to follow.
the night rolls around to the point where you know he’s off work. it’ll take him a little to get home, so you settle on the couch and wait.
but as the hours tick by, later and later, the worry grows and gnaws and threatens to split you from the inside out.
maybe he’s out with the boys again? you’d think, given the circumstances, he’d want to come home to you. but old habits die hard, you suppose.
but it gets later. and later.
later than he ever would be out even when things were perfect between you two.
it shatters you. where was he? what was he doing? was he —
the thought makes you sick.
he comes home after midnight. after you wretched in the toilet and cried yourself to sleep — again.
didn’t he love you too?
he sees the cookies put away in a container and a pit grows in his stomach, a void ready to eat his heart. whatever is left of it, anyways.
there’s a note sitting on the top.
“sleep well.”
the writing was shaky and it looks like a few tears spilled onto the words as you wrote them.
your usual xoxo at the bottom was crossed out.
you beat me to it:)
you bloody beat me to it. Fool me once.
your eyes are blank as if the life had all but faded from them, and in a way, they had.
Sitting him down, you calmly, (calmly, because there is nothing in you left other than acceptance, and youll be damned before you ever beg a man to want you) say, "I'll be leaving in the morning."
He tries to say something but nothing he could ever say will fix what he chose to break. "No, the fact that i'm even bothering to tell you is a courtesy you don't deserve. You've made your bed, now continue to lie in it with whoever you keep seeing after work." Smoothly, you get up and walk towards your room.
There is no rancor in your heart for whoever it is he's been with. After all, the one in the relationship with you was him.
You stuff a towel under the door, covering the gap, and clutch your collar to your chest, letting the last tears youll ever cry over him track down your cheeks. He doesn't deserve to see nor hear your pain.
You call an uber while he's at work and disappear.
When he comes back home, the place is dark and empty. He sits at the dinner table alone, with two fingers of whiskey in front of him, and in his hand is the last note you left him, stiff with dried tears and an xoxo at the very bottom.
What makes him crumble is when he sees the glint of your personalized collar on his nightstand, and it finally hits him that you're gone. For good.
listening to eurielle while writing epic sad is just chefs kiss.
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