"You're back late." Lizzie commented as Marcus came into their shared bedroom, dropping his bag on the floor.
"So?" He responded with a shrug, climbing into bed beside her without taking off his shoes — a known pet peeve of hers.
"Just... thought you said you'd be back around eight." She said and then quickly changed the subject, smiling smally at him. "I've been writing today. I've-"
"Yeah?" Marcus leant over, kissing her with lips that tasted like beer.
Lizzie tried speaking again. "I've gotten one song completed and the other has-"
He kissed her again, breathing the words against her mouth. "I don't care..."
She pictured certain people doing that. Kissing her and telling her to shut up affectionately, making her feel loved instead of used. Marcus didn't achieve that.
"I'm telling you about my day."
"I don't care." He muttered again, forcing a courtesy laugh out.
Lizzie pulled away, swallowing and meeting his eyes. "I wish you would." She whispered.
Marcus sighed, grabbing her hips and pulling her into his lap.
"But I can't. Honey, it's always the same. You complain for a while about having no ideas for songs and then one day you have loads and you put them onto paper. Then you release an album and make loads of money." He mansplained as if it wasn't her life he was talking about. "It's repetitive and dull. You write about the same bullshit. Me? When I get an audition, you never know what the movie'll be about. I could be anything. You're always Elizabeth Monroe."
Lizzie looked at him for a few moments, disbelief and offence filling her until she pushed it down and nodded. "I mean, I guess that's true..."
"But, hey. If you want some praise for your writing, you can always go post something on Instagram. You'll find it there." He kissed her neck. "Now lay down."
🜸
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