From Ashes to Forever

S I X | Transfer



Aria

Just as I finished arranging the couch with a blanket and pillow for Rian, a loud, insistent knocking shattered the quiet of the night. It wasn’t the kind of knock you’d expect at midnight; it was more like someone was trying to break the door down.

My heart pounded in my ribcage, and I approached the door cautiously, my steps silent on the hardwood floor. I hesitated for a moment before peering through the peephole. To my surprise, it was Rian. The satisfaction I felt from seeing him on the other side of the door was undeniable—he had rolled in at 4 a.m. last night, reeking of alcohol, and I had been torn between letting him in and making him face the consequences of his actions.

Tonight, the dilemma repeated itself. The frustration from earlier in the day still simmered beneath the surface. Rian had pulled another one of his infuriating pranks—a fake note on my car claiming it had been hit. I had spent hours inspecting every inch of my car, only to realize it was yet another of his childish jokes. The memory of it made my blood boil all over again.

Mature, I know.

I gripped the doorknob, debating whether to open the door or leave him out there to deal with his own mess. But something in the pit of my stomach told me this was different. Eventually, I relented, turning the knob and opening the door.

As soon as I did, my anger was tempered by concern. Rian was swaying on his feet, barely able to stand upright. The overpowering stench of alcohol hit me like a wave, so strong it was almost suffocating.

“Why are you drunk?” I demanded, coughing as I tried to clear the toxic smell from my lungs.

“Incredibly intoxicated,” he slurred, his words almost a taunt. “What are you going to do about it?”

I didn’t bother to respond. There was no point in arguing with someone who was this far gone. I just stood there, glaring at him, my anger mixing with a growing sense of helplessness. How had things gotten this bad?

He stumbled forward, and I instinctively reached out to steady him. Despite everything, seeing him like this—vulnerable, unsteady, reeking of regret—tugged at something deep inside me.

“Come on,” I muttered, more to myself than to him, as I guided him inside. He was heavier than he looked, and I struggled to keep him upright as I led him to the couch.

As I lowered him onto the cushions, he mumbled something incoherent, his head lolling to one side. I sighed, pulling the blanket over him, and took a step back. He was out cold within seconds, his breathing heavy and uneven.

I watched him for a moment, conflicted emotions warring within me. I was still angry, but there was something else too —something akin to pity, or maybe just exhaustion from all the fighting, the pranks, the constant back-and-forth. This wasn’t what I had signed up for when we got married. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

I stood there, watching Rian as he sank deeper into unconsciousness. The rise and fall of his chest was the only movement in the room, the only sound besides the ticking of the wall clock. I felt a strange disconnect, like I was watching a scene from someone else's life—certainly not the life I had imagined when we married.

My thoughts drifted back to the note on my car, to the hours I had wasted searching for damage that wasn’t there, to the smirk on Rian’s face when he finally admitted it was a joke. I had been so furious then, but now, looking at him like this, I just felt... tired.