Infuriating :: KAVETHAM/HAIKAVEH

22

I woke up with a pounding headache, the kind that felt like someone was trying to split my skull open from the inside. My mouth was dry, and the faint taste of last night's poor decisions still lingered on my tongue. The room was dim, curtains drawn tightly shut against the morning light. But I knew it was there, waiting for me to face it. Just like the conversation I had been dreading since the moment I downed that second drink.

Alhaitham hadn't said much last night. After we got home, he was all efficiency and silence, getting me into bed, making sure I was comfortable before retreating to his side of the bed. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I felt the weight of his worry, his frustration, his disappointment. It had hung in the air like a storm cloud, ready to burst.

Now, as I lay there, the events of the previous night played back in my mind with a painful clarity. I remembered the drinks—the first one innocent enough, just something to loosen me up, to make me forget the stress that had been gnawing at me for weeks. But it never stopped at just one, did it? There was always that voice in the back of my mind, whispering that one more wouldn't hurt, that I deserved it, that I could handle it.

Except I couldn't. Not anymore.

The thought made my stomach churn with guilt. I knew I'd screwed up. I'd broken a promise—not just to Alhaitham, but to myself. We'd fought so hard to keep things together, to rebuild after everything that had happened between us. And here I was, undoing all of it with a few too many drinks.

I glanced over at Alhaitham's side of the bed, half expecting to find it empty. But he was there, lying on his back with one arm draped over his forehead, eyes closed. He didn't look like he was sleeping, though. His breathing was too even, too measured, like he was trying to keep himself calm. It was a habit I'd noticed in him over the years, one he fell into when he was trying to suppress his emotions.

A part of me wanted to close my eyes again, to drift back into sleep and postpone the inevitable. But I knew better. We couldn't keep sweeping things under the rug, hoping they'd go away on their own. It was time to face the music, no matter how much I wished I didn't have to.

Slowly, I sat up, wincing as the movement sent another wave of pain through my skull. Alhaitham's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, we just looked at each other in silence. There was no anger in his gaze, no judgment—just that quiet, steady concern that he always seemed to have for me, even when I didn't deserve it.

"Morning," I croaked, my voice rough from sleep and the alcohol.

"Morning," he replied softly, sitting up as well. He didn't move to touch me, didn't reach out like he usually would. The distance between us felt like a chasm, and I hated it.

"Kaveh," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "we need to talk."

I nodded, my throat tightening with dread. "I know."

There was a heavy pause, the weight of his words settling over me like a lead blanket. I could feel the tension in the room, the unspoken fears and frustrations hanging between us. I had no idea where to start, what to say that could possibly make this better. But I knew I had to try.

"I'm sorry," I said, the words coming out in a rush. "I know I messed up last night. I—" I stopped, swallowing hard as the guilt threatened to choke me. "I didn't mean for it to get out of hand. I just... I was stressed, and it was there, and I thought I could handle it."

Alhaitham was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a quiet intensity that told me he was holding back a lot more than he was letting on. "I know you're stressed, Kaveh. I can see it, every day. But turning to alcohol isn't the solution. We talked about this."

"I know," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded. "I know we did. And I'm sorry. I just... I don't know what to do anymore, Alhaitham. I feel like I'm drowning, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get my head above water."

There it was—the truth I'd been avoiding, the thing I hadn't even wanted to admit to myself. The stress, the pressure, the endless deadlines and expectations—they were all crushing me, and I was terrified of what would happen if I couldn't keep up.

Alhaitham's expression softened, and he finally reached out, his hand covering mine. His touch was warm, grounding, and I felt some of the tension in my chest ease just from that simple gesture. "You don't have to do this alone, Kaveh. I'm here. We can figure it out together, but you have to let me help you."

I looked down at our joined hands, the contrast of his steady grip against my trembling fingers stark. "I don't want to be a burden to you," I admitted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "You already have so much on your plate. I don't want to add to it."

"You're not a burden," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "You're my partner. We're supposed to share the load, remember? But I can't do that if you keep shutting me out."

I flinched at that, knowing he was right. I had been shutting him out, trying to deal with everything on my own because I didn't want to drag him down with me. But all I'd managed to do was push him away, and in doing so, I'd made things worse for both of us.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice breaking. "I didn't mean to shut you out. I just... I didn't want you to see how much I was struggling."

He sighed, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand. "Kaveh, I see you. Even when you think you're hiding it, I see what you're going through. And it hurts to watch you suffer in silence, especially when I know I could help if you'd let me."

The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, and I squeezed my eyes shut, ashamed of how weak I felt. "I'm so tired, Alhaitham," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so tired of feeling like this, like I'm constantly on the verge of falling apart."

He pulled me into his arms then, holding me tightly as I broke down. I buried my face in his shoulder, my body shaking with the force of my sobs. All the stress, all the fear, all the guilt—it all came pouring out, and I couldn't stop it.

Alhaitham didn't say anything, didn't try to shush me or tell me everything would be okay. He just held me, letting me cry until there were no tears left. And somehow, that was exactly what I needed. His quiet presence, his steady strength—it was enough to remind me that I wasn't alone, that I didn't have to face this all by myself.

When I finally pulled back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, I felt a little lighter, like some of the weight on my shoulders had been lifted. Alhaitham was still holding me, his hands resting on my arms, his gaze full of concern.

"We'll figure this out," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "We'll find a way to make things easier, to take some of the pressure off. But you have to be honest with me, Kaveh. I can't help if I don't know what's really going on."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I didn't know how we were going to fix this, but I trusted him. I trusted that he would find a way, that we would find a way together.

After a long moment, he gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing away the remnants of my tears. "No more drinking to cope," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "If you're feeling overwhelmed, talk to me. We'll figure out a better way."

"Okay," I whispered, leaning into his touch. "I'll try. I promise."

He leaned in and kissed my forehead, a lingering, reassuring gesture that made my heart ache with affection and gratitude. "That's all I ask."

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, letting the silence fill in the gaps where words had failed us. It wasn't a perfect solution, and I knew there would be more hard days ahead. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like we were on the same page, like we were finally moving in the right direction.