Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader
Word Count: 12.3k
Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Talks of Marriage, Kissing, Angst, Rejection, Embarrassment, Driving Under the Influence, Yelling, Arguing, Gaslighting, Begging, Heartbreak, Crying.
JAKE POV
No one can make a left shoe right. Even walking barefoot hurts in the beginning. Those first few steps are painful, yet necessary in order to move forward. But that doesn't make it hurt any less. You suffer through it because you know you have no other choice. You learn to cope until you no longer feel the pain. Until you find your normal. No one ever said it would be easy. As for now though, it's your own two feet that will have to bear the burdens of your heart, carrying you forward until the pain fades away and you find that normal you thought you once knew.
–
The door is locked and the lights are dim, the dining chairs sitting perfectly in their spots around the table. The house is quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft tinkling as heat filters through the air vents. Though, you swear you can hear the persistent drip, drip, drip of the water slipping away down the kitchen sink as you lie awake in your bed. You stare at the ceiling, eyes trained on the hairline crack that runs the length of your bedroom. You wonder how it got there. How long it had been there. Were there any signs before it cracked? Before the integrity was completely lost, giving way to the fault? Was there less stress now that it cracked? Would it be better off this way? Or would it continue to deteriorate and live in a state of disrepair until someone came along and tried to fix it?
Drip, drip, drip.
God, would you ever fix that faucet?
You rip the sheets from your body and throw them down to the bed, storming down the stairs until you're standing in front of the sink. You watched it, waited for it, willed it to happen.
Drip, drip, drip.
You jiggle the handle, but it's tight. The valve is shut. You smack your hand against the spigot, a few more drops falling quickly to the drain. "Goddamn you." you growl, watching again as it drip, drip, drips, mocking you, as if telling you you're a failure.
You crouch down below, opening the cabinet forcefully and tossing away the items to access the water shut off valve. You twist the knob and turn off the water before standing again to observe the faucet. You pull the handle to release the rest of the water in the line letting a small stream pour out before the line runs dry. No more water. No more drip. You cut it off at the source.
How many times had she asked you to look at it? How many times did you tell her you would, but never did?
With a huff you closed the cabinets and made your way back upstairs, trudging slowly through the eerily silent house. You slid back into bed and turned off your lamp, hoping the darkness of the room would guide you into another restless sleep. Your body starts to relax, your mind drifting in and out of hazy dreams and memories, eventually succumbing to the exhaustion that has been plaguing you for days.
Drip, drip, drip.
It was closer. You sat up straight in your bed, listening, making sure you weren't dreaming. You sat and waited, the flashing clock on your nightstand lighting the room in a red glow, your weary eyes still trying to adjust.
Drip, drip, drip.
The bathroom.
You get up, needing to see for yourself that you weren't crazy, and sure enough as you flicked on the light switch and settled in front of the sink, you watched it.
