Vows of Misfortune

46.

Ever since that night, things had changed between us. Not for the better. For the worse. Every time I tried to talk to him, to help or to just strike up conversation, he would shut me down.

"Do you need help with the dishes—"

"I got it," he said, curt. He didn't stop or move to accommodate me so we could wash the plates together. So I moved away.

Whenever I sat down for dinner on the floor to watch movies, I looked over at him, waiting for me to join. But he always took his plate from the kitchen and sat on the dining table.

Like he used to.

Sometimes he wouldn't even come home from work.

Had I done something wrong? I thought later that night, staring up at the ceiling.

His back was turned to me and he was sleeping on the very edge as if the thought of even being near me disgusted him. Maybe seeing my older, prettier sister gave him thought that he could do so much better than a woman like me who was cheated on.

Or maybe he had been disgusted with me the moment we slept together.

"Mum," I cried on the phone the next day, "I don't know what to do."

"Calm down, sweetie," she whispered. "Maybe he's having an off day. You know what that's like."

"An off day everyday?"

Mum sighed. "Look, sit him down and chat with him before that triple date or something you mentioned going on. It's not good to go on a date being grumpy at each other."

I wiped my cheeks and hummed in agreement. She had a point. I had to try and have a discussion with him. Well, force a discussion with him. I didn't tell her the whole details, obviously.

I waited until he got home that night, the clock ticking away; when it was nine, he still wasn't here.

Three and a half hours later, there was banging at the front door. It startled me up from the couch. I put on my hoodie to stop the chills tickling my skin and pattered over. I peered through the peephole to see that it was Romir, swaying from side to side.

Was he drunk?

Quickly, I opened the door. He stumbled forward and I gasped, reaching for him in an attempt to stop him from falling. The stench of alcohol reeked all around him and pierced my nostrils.

Was I like this whenever I used to get piss drunk? And Romir used to take care of me and never, not once, did he complain to me. The entire time we'd been acquainted, I'd never known Romir to get drunk at all.

"I can't do this anymore," he slurred.

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though he was mumbling all over the place.

He rocked a little to the side and I placed his arm over my shoulder, holding him in place. I guided him toward our room but because he was a little taller and had a more built physique than I did, it was difficult.

By the time I placed him gently on the bed, my hair had come out of my bun and small pants left me. His bloodshot eyes were half-open but there was a thin, sheen glaze over them.

"So beautiful," he whispered, fingers touching my cheek.

I tried not to overthink his words too much. Stop beating so hard, heart. Clearing my throat, I took his hand away from my face. "I'll get you some water but you need to get rest," I said.

"I don't deserve you." I went to get up but he tugged me back. He had a tight hold on my hand. The inebriation was still etched in the lines of his features but all of a sudden he looked so stern, so sober. "Can I kiss you?"