In Drunken Matrimony ✔️

Twenty - Admittance Among Goodbye

Oʟɪᴠᴇʀ

The smell of stale alcohol and women's perfume lingers on my suit as I stumble through the door - the time unknown, but early, considering the sun now peaks over the tree line and graces the sky with its gentle light. The few buttons done up on my shirt are uneven, leaving my collar lopsided over the blazer which is creased, and one side tucked within my pants which are now void of a belt. Strands of hair hang over my eyes, blurring my already hazy vision even further.

My shoes are unlaced, and I nearly trip over such as I lean forward, fumbling to put the key in the door and letting myself inside. "Shit." My voice is a slur, my footsteps heavy as I shuffle inside, hands on the wall for support to stop myself from falling into the foyer of this stupid house, with its stupid white walls and boring furniture and no shoes on the carpet rule.

I barely have time to kick off my shoes before she's here, face twisted with concern, dark crescents hanging beneath her eyes, a sign she has fought sleep for hours. My eyes rest on her for only a second before I focus on stripping myself of the blazer which half hangs off of me. I don't let myself care that she waited awake for me all night.

"Where the hell have you been!" She cries out, stomping towards me with her arms folded tightly across the gown she wears. "I've been worried Oliver!" I don't let myself believe her.

There is no point in replying, because there is nothing much to say. Such only infuriated her further. She takes a hand to my chin, forcing me to look at her, look at the tears which glaze her exhausted blue eyes. They don't remain fixed on mine though, drawn to my shirt, the creases and smudges it's decorated in.

Her thumb swipes beside my mouth, and she pulls away, inspecting the dark nude lipstick that has stained my skin. "You,"

I shrug. "Yeah."

Her mouth opens, perhaps in preparation to speak, but all that escapes her is a strangled breath. The pools within her eyes overfill, tears dropping from either corner and rolling over her paled cheeks. I turn away, unable to look at her breaking face. I can't pretend that it doesn't ache me to have caused that.

My avoidance, apparently, is enough to warrant the return of her voice. "How could you?" It's barely a whisper when she speaks. So calm, so steady.

"I didn't think you'd care." I return phlegmatically. She scoffs as if insulted by the suggestion.

"Are you kidding?" I ignore her. "Look at me!" She screeches with enough intensity, I can do nothing but obey. "Who? A girl from a bar? I can now that's where you've been." As if to be sure, she leans forward and sniffs my clothes, repulsed perhaps by the scent of alcohol which has embedded itself in the fibres of my clothes or the stench of sex that lingers over me.

I shrug. "Yeah, a tall blonde. We went back to her place."

Her features harden, despite the tears that still fall. "You're disgusting."

"Really," I dare to ask, stumbling into the side table with a loud bang. "Disgusting would be telling you all the things we did. Where I put my hands, my tongue. How she moved against me -"

"Did you not consider that you could have ruined everything?" She interjects with a fractured yell, burying the flash of pain that comes at my words.