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cw: arguing/emotional abuse.
if you or a loved one are experiencing domestic abuse please consider reaching out to the national (usa) hotline available 24/7 at this number:
800-799-7233
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"I'M SORRY."
You stared down at the unanswered text you sent to Historia days ago, wondering if she'd ever respond to it. You knew she was a fan of the silent treatment, but it never lasted this long. You were beginning to wonder if she'd ever forgive you, or if you even deserved it.
You typed out a million apologies but ended up deleting them all. Nothing you could say would fix it; she would just have to come around on her own. You hoped she would, but you had a sneaking suspicion that maybe you went too far this time. When you thought about the possibility that you would never see her again, your heart ached something awful. A tired sigh escaped your lips, and you had to close your eyes to prevent the tears from coming back.
Several seconds passed before you allowed yourself to open them again. In the darkness, you caught Jean's gaze at the far edge of your vision. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he stared down at your phone, jaw flexed as his hand squeezed your thigh. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
Don't say it,
you thought, preemptively rolling your eyes.
"Who are you texting?"
You inwardly groaned, dropping your phone onto the blanket that covered your lap. "No one," you grumbled, averting your gaze to the movie that up until now, had only served as background noise.
Jean's watchful gaze made your skin crawl, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until bed. It was no secret that your relationship was falling apart at the seams. Each argument left the threads of your love in more ruin than before, and you were tired of trying to sew them back together again.
Historia's absence meant you were spending a lot more time in your shared apartment, which only led to more tension and of course, more arguments. He always seemed to have a problem, whether it was the state of the apartment or the fact that there wasn't any dinner on the table when he returned home from his shift.
Frankly, it made you want to rip your hair out. He acted like having a full-time job made him superior to you, as if your efforts in university meant nothing. You were struggling as it is to make ends meet and finish off your degree, juggling online classes with a part-time job. But since he worked longer hours, apparently it made you lazy in comparison. None of the domestic duties fell on him since technically, you spent more time at home.
"What's your problem?" he said when you refused to let him drape his arm over your shoulders.
You felt your eye twitch as you stared up at him, a blank expression on your face. How could he be so dense? Just looking at his smug face made you angry, a deeply rooted resentment that smoldered so hot it would burn you alive if you let it. At that moment, you decided that enough was enough. You were beyond tired of his willful incompetence in almost every aspect of your relationship, especially because he had to audacity to act like nothing was wrong when it was obvious that everything was wrong.
"You." Your voice was laced with venom. "You're my problem, Jean."
He scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, because everything is always my fault."
You didn't even bother responding to his statement, knowing he was just looking for a reaction out of you. Your gaze was fixated on the ceiling as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. Your right leg bounced up and down as you clenched your fists around the soft fabric of the blanket. "Like a thorn in my fucking side," you mumbled under your breath. You exhaled loudly and abruptly stood from the couch, letting the blanket drop as you walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. You weren't even thirsty, you just wanted to get away from him.
"What did you say?" He was following you now, leaning against the fridge as you watched the water fill your cup.
"Nothing," you said. His proximity made your skin prickle, the little hairs on the back of your neck standing up in unison. Your teeth grit together as you retrieved the glass from the fridge dispenser. You sent him a sideways glance. "I can't even get some water without you watching me?"
He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, unwilling to hear another word out of him. "You asked me what my problem is, but what's your problem, Jean?" you snapped. You were facing him now, looking up at him with a defiant look in your e/c eyes. "I feel like I'm suffocating when you're around, like I can't even exist without you supervising everything I do!"
There it was again, your eyes narrowed as he ran a hand through his already disheveled locks. You used to find it so attractive, but now that little habit just made you want to roll your eyes. It was funny, how someone could go from so handsome in your eyes to a sight you actually loathed to see. You watched with contempt as his lips moved, he was mumbling something under his breath, but the words were so soft they were barely audible.
Your knuckles were turning a warm shade of white as you gripped the glass. The water had begun to spill over the rim as your hands shook with anxiety. "What was that?"
He was silent as he looked down at you. There wasn't a single discernible emotion on his face, but as you stared into his auburn eyes, you realized you weren't the only one with a fire smoldering inside of you. His blank expression was unwavering as he uttered the words that made your heart shatter into a million and one pieces. ". .It's because you act like a fucking whore."
Blinding white rage filled every part of your body, but all you could do was stand there as the salty tears filled your e/c eyes. You turned your back on him as your breathing became ragged, pitiful wheezes followed by little sniffles that would eventually turn into sobs.
"Y/n? Wait— I-i swear, you know I didn't mean it."
Then you felt his hand on your shoulder; his touch was soft and almost comforting in a strange way. But the anger remained, and you quickly shoved him aside. The glass fell from your fingers, shattering onto the tile as you forced your legs to carry you to the bedroom. You slammed the door behind you and slid down until your ass hit the carpet, a sob wracking your body once you were out of sight. You let your head drop between your knees as more followed.
"Y/n!" Jean's muffled voice called from the other side. "Please, I'm sorry."
You ignored his pleas, wiping at your tear-stained cheeks. Despite the overwhelming pain in your chest and the shakiness of your hands, you reached into the pocket of your sweats and slowly pulled out your phone. You drew in a raggedy breath and scanned your contact list, squinting in the darkness as you looked for the only person who could quell the anger plaguing your broken heart.
