Revealing Kane

24 - Broken

Since our big row, John has been better, but I can tell he's still not right. He has good days and bad days, but he's still trying. And I'm still concerned.

I continue to work often, so I'm glad of that. My pregnant body continues to grow and change, and it's all being documented by photographers. It's somewhat surreal when you think about it.

While I work, John goes to the studio. They are working on a new album, but going by his updates, not much is happening. He tells me he's bored most days. And in an effort to be truthful with me, he tells me he's been smoking hash oil. A lot. He assures me it's nowhere near as bad as cocaine, and it helps keep his anxiety down. I don't like it, but I can't stop him without being overbearing.

Jean, his Mom, calls weekly to chat with John and check on me. She's so excited about her first grandchild. But she does sometimes bother John about us getting married. It rattles John a bit, but I assure him he does not have to marry me right now. It will happen when it happens. As long as we're together, I'm happy.

One afternoon, John comes home in a foul mood. I hear him thumping about downstairs, but I leave him be. He finds me in what will be the baby's nursery cleaning up an old changing table I bought at the second-hand store, and he about loses his mind.

"Why the hell did you buy something used?" he sneers, but I smile at him.

"Because I like the woodwork. And it's very sturdy oak. All the new ones I looked at seemed flimsy and made of particle board. I'll clean this up, buy a new pad, and it will be good as new. Better even," I assure him, but he scoffs at me.

"I hope the rest of the baby gear won't be old," he snarks, but I'm not going to allow his bad mood to spoil mine.

"I found a lovely pram, and the crib will be yours. Your Mum told me they kept it just for the grandkids. Isn't that great?" I say excitedly.

"Fantastic," John says sarcastically and leaves the room.

"Party pooper," I mumble and continue cleaning the wood.

It's getting dark when I leave the nursery, and I wonder where John is. I didn't hear him leave, so he has to be in the house somewhere. I wander the upstairs bedrooms, which are all empty, so I go downstairs.

As I walk past the living room, I find John sitting in the middle of the sofa, his head rolled onto the back cushions and a weirdly shaped glass object in his hand. There's water at the bottom of it. Is it a vase? No, it looks dirty. Sooty. I watch as John lifts his head, flicks a lighter, and holds it to the strange valve near the bottom. As the glass tube fills with smoke, John puts his mouth to the other end and inhales. What is he doing?

"John," I call, and he jumps, looking up at me in surprise. "What's that?"

John doesn't answer. He just tilts the contraption in his hand and stares at it as if he's never seen it before. He then looks up at me and sighs.

"It's my bong," he says, and I see shame fill his features.

"What's it for?" I then ask, and he drops his eyes guiltily.

"Smoking hash oil," he confesses, and I bite my lips together so I don't lash out at him in anger for doing drugs.

"Why are you doing that? It can't be good for you," I proclaim.

"It calms me down. Helps me when I'm angry or annoyed," he explains.

"And why are you annoyed?" I snap indignantly.

John lifts his eyes to mine and says, "You. You're driving me mad."

"Me?" I squeak, offended.

"Yeah, you. Did you call my Mum and ask for her help?" he accuses.

"What? No! I've only ever talked to her when you're around. She rang today looking for you. I answered since you weren't home, and that's when she told me about the crib. She said they had just dug it out of the attic. She was so excited, John. And no, I would never ask your parents for help without discussing it with you first," I tell him, still feeling prickly at his words.

John sighs and sets the bong on the nearby end table. He scrubs his face with his hands before getting to his feet. I cringe slightly, seeing his anger ebbing off his frame, but he doesn't stop when he nears me. He simply walks past without looking at me and leaves the room. What? Now he's going to act all arrogant with me? What has gotten into my normally sweet fiancé?

I roll my eyes and huff out a breath as I head toward the kitchen. I'll make dinner, and hopefully, John will come around by the time it's ready to be served. I make chicken parmigiana, and while it's baking, I set our little table nicely. I have just pulled the food from the oven when John appears in the doorway.

"I'm going out," he snaps.

"What?" I sputter, stunned.

"See you later," he adds and turns, heading for the door.

"John!" I yell, running after him.

"What, Allison," he says as he reaches the front door.

Annoyance and frustration are written all over his face. Why is he so out of sorts with me? And as I approach, I realize he is dressed fairly nicely. He's got his hair pulled back, and do I smell cologne?

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Out."

"Come on, John. What is going on? Why are you so angry?"

"I told you. You're driving me mad. I need to get out. Have a little fun," he snaps.

"Oh, ok," I respond sarcastically as my own anger rises. "Have everything you need? Cab fare? Your cigarettes? Condoms?"

I glare deep into his eyes as my hand comes to rest on my pregnant belly. John returns the glare, not liking my challenge.

"Why would I need condoms?" he barks.

"So there's not a third child of yours out there right now," I snap.

"I'm not going to hook up with anyone, Allison."

"Oh! You're not? What a relief!" I say, piling on the sarcasm. "I'll just stay in, eat the meal I cooked, and take care of the house. You go on. Go live your rockstar life. And maybe I won't be here when you get back," I snap, feeling anger dart out of my eyes at him.

John says nothing. Seemingly no reaction to my threat. So, I up the ante.

"Here. Let me free you completely," I say and take off my engagement ring.

I set it on the nearby table and say, "There. Done and dusted. Go on now. Have your fun."

I turn and walk away from him. I am so angry and so sad. I don't understand what is going on with John and why he would-

I hear the front door latch shut. John actually went out. He doesn't care that I just broke off our engagement. Oh my God. We're over.