Zustin - Tightrope

William

It's been a month since our last big fight, and at first, it seemed like things might get better. Those first few days afterward felt almost normal, like how it used to be. But it didn't last. Now, he stays out late every night, coming home too drunk for anything more than a quick, emotionless fuck, when he can even manage that, a lot of the times he can't even get it up.

I've poured every ounce of effort I have into saving this relationship, but it's not enough. I love him more than anything, but I've put up with this for far too long. I need to go home. I need my friends.

"Zayn, I can't do this anymore. I'm miserable here, I need to go home," I say after we finish dinner, the first meal we've shared in over a week.

"You are home Justin. This is our home. You've lived here for six months now, you can't just leave." He forces a half hearted smile, but there's no real emotion behind it. "I'll be better, it's just, it's a lot right now, with the tour prep and everything."

"I get that, but in a few weeks, you'll be on tour, home for maybe three days every two weeks. What am I supposed to do then? I can't just stay here alone," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"This is my job Justin. You knew that from the start. It's not my fault you can't handle it," he snaps, his temper flaring.

"Don't raise your voice Zayn. Please." I hate when he gets like this, and he knows it. "I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying I can't be here anymore. You could visit me when you have days off instead."

"I can't Justin. Most of my days off, I have to be in LA for work. It's nonstop. I need you here when I come home," he insists.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back. "Well, I don't want to be here Zayn. I can't. I'm sorry, but this isn't working. You promised things would get better, but they haven't. I feel depressed. I don't want to be here anymore."

"And what about us? You're just gonna fucking give up?" he asks, anger laced in his words.

"I've done nothing but fight for us Zayn. You haven't. You come home drunk most nights. You don't kiss me anymore, you barely touch me unless you want sex, and even then, it's half hearted. I don't mind if you don't want sex, but I need to feel wanted. I told you I was at my limit weeks ago, and you said you'd change, but you haven't. You're never home, and I'm always here. Alone," I say, my voice breaking.

"I have tried Justin," he sighs, sounding defeated.

"I love you Zayn, but this isn't working, and you know it. Even when you have time off, you choose to spend it in clubs with other people," I say, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.

"I've invited you to come with me," he retorts.

"You know I can't go," I reply, my tone colder than I intended.

"That's not my fault," he says dismissively.

"It's not mine either," I mutter under my breath.

"It is though. Just try, it won't be so bad. Don't be so anxious about everything," he says, completely missing the point.

"You really don't understand me, and you don't even try," I sigh, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me.

"I get that being acoustic makes it hard, but sometimes you have to push through," he says, stumbling over his words.

"Autistic," I correct him quietly.

"What?"

"I'm autistic Zayn. It's not called acoustic. I'm not a song," I say, the correction feeling futile.

"Whatever the fuck it's called, it doesn't matter," he rolls his eyes.

"It does matter Zayn. I don't want to do this anymore. I'm sorry. It's not working, and we both know it. I want to move home, but I still want you. I think we moved in together too soon. It was better before," I try to explain, hoping he'll understand. "Just until your tour is over. We can make it work. And I can come visit you the tour dates that you're in Pennsylvania," I add with a small, hopeful smile.