Quandary | Noah Sebastian |

fourteen

A/N: sorry this chapter is meh.

Home didn't feel like home anymore. There was always this weight pressing down on me whenever I walked through the front door, plagued with guilt and shame. It got even worse when I would walk into our bedroom, seeing both of our wedding rings placed on the bureau, taunting me of our marriage that was falling apart.

I no longer felt deserving of wearing the ring.

Of course, I still loved Noah—but I wasn't in love with him. Not the way I had been before his career took off. It killed me to admit to even myself, which is exactly why I haven't said it to him either. I'm sure he knew it, though.

The affection and lust were there at times, which of course would cause me to fawn over him, but there was no trust, no communication. 'I'll fix this' he'd say, but he'd continue to break promise after promise. Even so, his way of fixing things was spending a day or two out of the month with me, or showering me with roses, thinking that would make things right.

Eventually, I stopped holding my breath, I stopped getting my hopes up. Instead, I got used to the way my heart sank with disappointment day after day, I got used to sleeping in an empty bed, I got used to his silly little attempts to smooth things over.

It wasn't just me who lost trust in our relationship; he did, too. He didn't trust me to stay sober while he wasn't home—granted, that was fair from my past behavior—but he accused me of doing so when I hadn't. On multiple occasions.

Either way, we didn't trust each other. How do you stay with someone you don't trust? It was evident that this just wasn't fucking working, and that left me feeling broken and hollow. Just an empty spot where my heart was supposed to be.

So, I filled that void with booze and lots of it. I was getting cut off from the bar as of late; the closer it got to Noah's return from tour, the heavier I drank.

It was selfish, and one of the factors of the disarray that was my marriage, but I didn't care. Clearly, as I was sitting here, sucking down whatever was placed in front of me—so long as it clouded my mind to the point that the apprehension of his arrival would dissipate.

I shouldn't feel this way about seeing my husband, but I wasn't sure what was going to happen between us. I knew I had to tell him about the turmoil inside my mind, but what would that lead to? Would we try to patch things up for the millionth time, or would we throw in the towel and go our separate ways?

Both of those options made my stomach flip. The thought of trying again, only to end in more disappointment was equally as devastating as the thought of us divorcing. I didn't know what to do.

"No wedding ring, huh?" A voice pulls me from the depths of my mind, the voice the same as nails on a chalkboard. "Guess you finally came to your senses."
Anger immediately flares through me, but I try my best to suppress it. "What do you want, Steven?" I hiss through clenched teeth, my eyes zeroed in on the empty glass in front of me.
"I don't want anything," he answers curtly.
I spare him a glance. "Then why are you here?"

He stands there, hip propped against the bar, beer in hand with a smug grin spread across his lips. He doesn't say a word, just looks at me with that stupid smirk that says 'I told you so', mischief shining in his abnormally pale green eyes. His hair was cropped short now, a shadow of stubble lining his jaw—I'd be lying if I said he wasn't the least bit attractive.

My eyes dart to the fresh shot glass filled to the brim that was now settled in front of me. I huff a dry laugh through my nose; I didn't order another shot. I picked up the glass of what appeared to be chilled Sambuca, swirling it carefully. "Trying to condition me again?" I asked, bringing it to my nose and being met by the familiar scent of anise.
"Whatever do you mean?" He furrows his brows in faux perplexity, but the smirk never falters.