Life After Love

Chapter Two

I woke up to the harsh daylight trickling in through my bedroom blinds and a sharp pounding in my head. I groaned and pulled my comforter up over my head to try to block it out, but it was useless. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes hard, feeling the mascara that still clung to my lashes pull and smudge across my face. I turned and dropped my feet over the edge of the bed, glancing over at my nightstand and trying to pull myself together before the day started. Perched on my nightstand was two ibuprofen and a sloppy note that read 'I know you're gonna hurt tomorrow, so here's some relief -Jori' with a crooked heart next to her name. I smiled and looked at her sleeping peacefully on the other side of my bed, no doubt she'd feel the same when she woke up. She's always been the one to take care of me on our crazy nights, but she forgot the water. I smiled to myself and stood up, grabbing the ibuprofen and making my way to the bathroom. I grabbed my rinse cup off the counter and filled it with water from the faucet before popping the little red brown pills into my mouth, then gulping the water down with them. I finished and decided another glass would be best, filling the cup again. After I finished my water, I crept into the room and dug around for my phone as quietly as I could so I wouldn't wake Jori. I checked the nightstand next to the side she was sleeping on, what used to be Elias' side of the bed, to make sure she also grabbed herself ibuprofen before bed. She had, but she also forgot water. 

I tiptoed down to the kitchen to get her a glass of water and start a pot of coffee, and while the coffee was brewing I check my phone. I looked at the lock screen and my heart leapt into my throat. Elias' name was first on the list of notifications, a text. I quickly opened it as I felt my pulse quicken and my face grow warm. 'Hey, you probably shouldn't drunk call me. But, since you did, I hope you made it home safe. Please call me in the morning.' I swallowed hard, and then went to check my call log. Sure enough, I had called him five times last night. I groaned again and pinched the bridge of my nose. Am I just stupid? Why would I call him? I thought about what I should do, pacing in the kitchen and listening to the soft drip and hiss of the coffee maker. I could call him, explain it was a mistake and I didn't even remember it, so that means it didn't happen right? I could text him, apologize and explain that I had too much to drink. Or, I could also ignore him. I knew that wasn't a valid option though. He wouldn't stand for being ignored, I would have to talk to him eventually. I took a deep breath to try to recollect myself, then I clicked on his contact and hit the 'call' button. 

It only rang twice before he picked up. "Lyn?" My breath caught in my throat. I hadn't heard him say my name like that in so long. It made my heart ache for him all over again. Fifteen years of marriage, nineteen years together, and now it was all gone, it could never be the same again. But the funny thing about that, is that it sounded the same. The tone of his voice, the way my name escaped his lips. It still made my heart skip a beat.

"Hi, um, sorry for calling last night.Obviously, I was quite drunk. It won't happen again," I stammered, trying to get this over as quickly as possible so I could proceed to wallowing in my own self pity and shame. 

"It's okay, I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself. I don't think you've ever truly yelled at me like that before," he chuckled and I felt my face grow warm again. What had I said to him? 

"Would you mind filling me in? I have to be honest, I don't remember."

"Well, that's not really a surprise." He told me what had happened when I called him. How I had called him names and cried, screaming at him for being selfish and asking over and over what I had done so wrong to make him do something so horrible to me, to hurt me so deeply. He told me it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have been more perfect if I had tried, just that he had made a big mistake. I wanted to laugh at this. Laugh at how stupid he sounded. And laugh at how stupid this all really was. But I didn't. For the first time in weeks, we were having a normal conversation. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend this had all just been a bad dream. A stupid, horrible, bad dream. But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't pretend. That would be more painful than reality. "How's your tattoo doing?" His question pulled me from my thoughts and I let out a small gasp.