The Addicting Affair

9.

Hold Me While You Wait

Jordan's POV
"How's it taste?" He asks me as I took some more sips of the whiskey bottle. 

"Disgusting," I reply, swiveling the little amount of liquid left in the bottom of the bottle.   The sight made me sad.

Almost all empty.

"Yeah, I remember our first time trying it, burned," he says as I sat in the living room floor, my mind running on about every little thing.

The small stubbles on my chin irritated me.  My stomach grumbling, but I've got more things to worry about than taking care of myself. 

The world began to sink as the air became heavy.  I blink a few times as I tried standing up. 

"You might want to wait this one out for a moment," he sits me back down. 

Everything was still and silent.

"She doesn't love you, I hope you know that," he says making me instantly almost choke on a sob.

I fell with my back on the floor, my mind spiraling as I stared at the ceiling. 

I love her. I need her, with every fiber of my being. I can't live like this.

I would, with no hesitation whatsoever, take a bullet for her.  Give my last breath to her. But it was too much for her to defend me from her parents.  Or to be patient and understanding with me.  I did everything I could to be the perfect husband and father, for her.  But nothing was ever enough. 

Her distant yet addicting, unreachable love makes a grown man cry.  Makes him want to take his own life. 

Without her, I feel nothing but the poison in my veins and the alcohol on my lips. 

I would think she would miss me. Call me. Try to reach out, and make this work.  I am begging for her to take me back. On the verge of suicide for this woman. And it means absolutely nothing to her.

I wish I could so easily let her go like she did. But, everything reminds me of her. Everything makes me miss her.

I crave her.

Her love is addictive.

Her laugh would fill the empty silence around this house; and so many times, the void in my heart. Her empty cold spot on the bed, leaves me crying every night until the morning.

The unwashed pillow case I cry into every night, her lingering perfume suffocating my lungs.

The diamond earrings left behind on the nightstand, showcasing what really mattered to her. What I failed to recognize from her.

Her favorite mug in the sink, her lipstick stain still on the rim. Her favorite pair of socks she thought was lost, found underneath the bed.

Her piano notes, the small scribbles we made along the way as we made our own music.

The small dent in the wall from a past drunk fall.

The missing piece that's been taken from me. 

When the rain came pouring, I held her close. Loving and protecting her.