Throw Your Colors at the Dark {Vic Fuentes}

7 - Fighting My Way Back

    I don’t know what I was expecting.  Maybe a string quartet playing the tune to Jeremy’s anger.  Perhaps a fight to the death duel of wits with him as he asked where I had been and why I hadn’t come home last night.  Hell even a good morning, glad to see you’re okay would have been fucking amazing.  I really don’t know what the hell I was expecting to see when I opened that door.  The choking despair grappling around my throat was forcing the tears to my eyes as I began to realize that I was not who I thought I was and Jeremy was not who I thought he was any longer.  When we first met, this would never have happened.

    I would never have come home to an empty house.

    I didn’t know what to do at that point.  It was disheartening to think that he had come home, not seen me and wasn’t even worried about where I had been.  Obviously it didn’t matter if I had died, was cheating on him, had been drunk and raped…none of it mattered to him.  He didn’t see me any longer and all he wanted was his job, the little wife at home with the kids and the suburban life.  It was hard to imagine if I was really a part of that plan or if he had just happened to find me and think I might be good enough.  I didn’t know if this was who he was when I had met him or not because how could a person change so much in such a short amount of time?  Then again it was possible because of the job title he had taken as Executive something or other.  I didn’t really give enough of a shit to know what his real job was.

    My feet carried me around the house, looking at our cookie cutter pictures and gagging, shaking my head as I gritted my teeth and fought back angry tears.  I didn’t want any of this.  They were fake smiles and cut out scenery that made up those photos.  There were no pictures of us kissing, none of us being silly and joyful.  I couldn’t explain why suddenly I felt so sad looking at these photographs, these digital monstrosities that hung in fancy frames on the wall.  They were good memories, but they weren’t great.  Is this what I had subjected myself t in my misery?  I had chosen the path of mediocrity?

    I growled and shook my head, walking into the kitchen.  It was then I noticed a note on the countertop.  My fingers nimbly picked it up, flipping open the sheet that had my name on it.

    It read-

Alouette,
     I apologize for coming home so late last night, lot of stuff at work kept me there.  I didn’t want to wake you so I slept on the couch.  I’ll probably be late again tonight just to warn you so don’t wait up for me.  Go ahead and go pick out a dress for the wedding and make sure it’s impressively beautiful.  Big deal, getting married.  Since my boss is going to be there you need to make sure everything is classy alright?  Sorry not to tell you about this in person but I have a lot of work.  I’ll see you later.
     Love, Jeremy

    I screamed and ripped up the paper, disgusted with the formality he had taken with me.  I didn’t want him to be fucking formal with me, we were in love for Christ’s sake!  Is this what he thought love entailed?  Is this what he thought we had become after all these years?!
 

   It was then that I realized with a start that I didn’t love him anymore.  Jeremy was not the man that I was once whole heartedly in love with and I could see that in that instant.  He had become what I never wanted to be with, the picture perfect husband tending to his little wife.  I was not a fucking damsel in distress, I was a warrior princess dammit.  I would cleave heads and scream profanities at people with any given shot at it if they offended me.  I wanted to dye my hair and gage my ears and dress the way I wanted for once. 
 

   I wanted to be me again.
 

   My feet carried me hurriedly up the stairs and into my room, fingers tearing through my closet while I searched for my luggage bags.  I had a few from my aunt when she had passed and it would be just enough for me to carry all of my clothing and whatever else was mine out of the door to this house and into my own life.  I needed to be on my own, do my photography somewhere in the world, travel the globe in search of myself.  I would not be waited on by a boy any longer and I would not be ordered around by him.  My hands grappled for shirts and jeans, folding them and tucking them away in the suitcases deftly.  I only picked out the clothing I wanted, the ones that suited my taste and didn’t make me look like some fucking housewife.  I picked up shoes and tossed them in there with socks, bras and underwear.