I stooped to our vinyl collection, running my fingers over the puzzle-piece edges of each jacket. I picked one with worn-down edges, a destructive show of love, and pulled out the vinyl. I placed it on his record player, remembering that mine– which I had toted around since college– was lonely in storage somewhere. Then, my favorite part, the ritualistic dropping of the needle. The satisfying pop as it connected with the record, the empty noise, and then a beautiful serenade playing through his extravagant speakers. Usually this sound was enough to draw him out of whatever he had sunk into; a book, his laptop, a movie. The piano. His guitar. Even sleep.
"Where are you, baby?" I called, walking through the hallways and peeking into each room. I found him in the bedroom, curled into the armrest of the corner chair, chewing a fingernail. His face was pale and blue-tinged from his computer. His eyes flicked violently over the screen.
"Hey," I walked over to him, kissing the top of his head, "You busy?"
"Sorry," he murmured, entranced by the endless text on his screen. He sighed, switching to an open email and typing a few sentences.
"You know," I brought my lips to his ear, his curls flicking against my cheekbones, "It's awfully lonely out there."
He chuckled, typing a few more words.
"And," I nudged his cheek with my nose, "I'm trying to finish this bottle of wine all by myself."
He took a deep breath.
"It's very hard," I purred, trailing a hand over his stiff shoulder.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He didn't look at me. He didn't kiss my cheek.
"I put our record on." A last effort.
He hummed, something between thank you and go away. I could feel my heart tighten, and took a step back.
"Okay." I turned sharply, stepping out of the room. I was tempted to slam the door. I clasped my hands together, walking to our living room, alone. I sat on the couch for a moment, breathing and listening to the last song on side A. I stared at my bare feet, thinking about how we had ended up here. I ruminated, thrashing, intrusive, and ugly thoughts clouding my head. I thought maybe he didn't love me anymore. I thought maybe he had finally given up. I thought I deserved better. I thought I didn't deserve anything at all.
I poured generously into my glass, the air stinging with the smell of raspberry wine. It made my stomach turn, the sweetness of it, but I sipped anyway. I flipped the record, sitting back on the couch, my thoughts slowly falling from me like sand. The lost weight was a relief.
By the time I had shelved the vinyl, I was working on another glass, proud I had finished the bottle all by myself. It tasted nice, now. I opened another.
My skin was thrumming with heat, the white noise of my pulse in my ears pulling me to sleep. I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to stay up and wait for him, because he would be here soon, he wouldn't leave me for a whole night, he would want to know how I was, he would check in on me. He would. I fell asleep.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
"Wake up, sweetheart," he was shaking my shoulder, "Wake up, you've spilled here."
I blinked, everything out of focus, and saw my glass held loosely between two fingers, dripping wine down the couch to the floor.
"Shit," I groaned, still drunk, setting my glass on the coffee table and trying to soak up the spill with the sleeve of my sweater.
He caught my wrist, "Just let me." He walked off to the kitchen, making some concoction of hydrogen peroxide and dish soap, then returning to scrub the couch with the solution. I sat uselessly beside the stain, feeling red and stupid. He rolled up his sleeves, soaking a bristled brush with the stain remover, scrubbing with a crease between his eyebrows.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, throat tightening as I watched him scrub faster. His curls shook on his forehead at the force of it.
"It's okay," he sighed, rinsing the brush, "You didn't mean to."
"I'm sorry," I chewed at my cheek.
The brush frothed as he dug in deeper.
"What time is it?" I was embarrassed at how the words slurred together. It didn't sound much like me.
"It's around two in the morning," he huffed, finished with the stain. He stood, back to the kitchen, dumping out the solution. I listened to the faucet drip slowly, and his feet shuffling down the hallway. I laid back into the couch, silent tears tugging down my cheeks.
YOU ARE READING
ACHES
Fanfiction"You're pretty," his fingertips found my jawline, "When you cry." "Only then?" I smirked, lip quivering. My skin warmed where he touched me. He licked his lower lip, shaking his head. He palpated for my jawbone, tracing it up to my ear. "Your eyes...
