Ghost of You

chapter 1

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tolerate it - Taylor Swift [E]

01:43 ━━━━●───── 04:05
⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻
ılıılıılıılıılıılı
ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

ִֶָ𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

"Home is where you're supposed to feel safe.
Nobody deserves to have that taken away."
_______________________________________

I hum softly as I set a fork down onto the table. I position it just right, and step back, wiping my hands against my pencil skirt. I still haven't had time to change out of my work clothes, dinner on the forefront of my mind the moment I walked through my front door. The happy cartoonish sounds of the tv play in the background, my three year old son babbling sweetly along as he watches. I go and double check the food in the oven, making sure everything is perfect. I decide to plate everything, knowing that my fiance will be back any moment now.

Right as I set the last plate at the table, the key turns in the lock. I stand by the table, my hands clasped in front of me as I wait for my fiance to step through the door. "Hi honey, how was your day?" I ask sweetly. "Fine," Blake mutters, dropping his briefcase by the door and loosening his tie. I step from around the table, and go up to him. He presses a kiss to my lips, in our usual routine.

"I made dinner for us tonight," I smile at him as he bends down to greet our son. He looks up at me, Ethan giggling and climbing happily into his arms. "Oh, so we aren't eating takeout, like usual?" he asks me. "No, it's Thursday," I remind him gently of our weekly home-cooked meal day. He huffs a breath, and gets Ethan settled back into watching his show, before wandering to the kitchen to grab a beer.

"I didn't know we were still doing that. You've been gone on Thursdays for the past month," he takes a deep swig of his beer. "I know, that's why I made your favorite tonight," I gesture at the table, where everything is all set up, food ready to be eaten. He sits down at his spot at the table, and immediately starts eating, not waiting for me.

"Ethan, buddy, let's go wash up for dinner," I call to my son. He comes barreling into the kitchen, a constant light in my gray-casted life. I help him wash his hands, then get him seated at the table. I sit across from my fiance, and watch him eat for a moment. "How is it?" I venture to ask softly. "It's a little burned," is all he says back.

"I'm sorry, I must have left it in a little longer than I thought, Ethan was a handful after the sitter left," I say, bowing my head. I don't get a response. I pick up my fork, and stab at my food. It's not burned at all. I push my food around on my plate in silence. I let out a soft sigh as I lift my fork to my mouth. "What was that sigh for?" Blake finally looks up at me.

"Nothing," I respond. "It was obviously something," he sets his fork down, "You always do this." I glance at Ethan. "Can we not do this in front of our son, please?" I ask wearily. "Fine," he drops it, and finishes eating. He tosses his napkin onto the table, and gets up to get another beer from the fridge. I hear the tv channel change to some sports thing, and I sit back in my chair. Of course he would leave everything for me to clean.

I get up to throw the rest of my food away, then clear the table as Ethan continues his snail-paced eating. I wash the dishes, deep in an internal dialogue with myself, trying not to make my fiance's ungratefulness a bigger deal than it is. Blake comes in to get a new beer as I'm drying the dishes. He doesn't even give me a second glance, and I set the dish down on the counter. "You could thank me, you know," I blurt out. He pauses, his back to me. "What did you say?" he asks. "I said you should thank me for dinner, and cleaning the di-" "I heard you," he snaps, turning around.