Will We Talk?

91- Back

We argued for weeks before Christmas, to the extent that I was worried that this was the end. For good. I can't count the amount of nights I spent facing away from him as his sense of entitlement rapidly grew, which made him think he could dictate my every move. The tragic twinkle of Christmas lights from our neighbours' homes and apartments only made me feel worse because I was so preoccupied by wishing that winter was the happiest time of the year. Our decorations weren't actually up because he couldn't spare any time for something as simple as domestic bliss.

I just wanted my Sam to come back.

The end was something I feared before it had even began. Sam and I were at a stage in which our relationship had reached its absolute peak- we were far better than we had been the first time around- and I was so scared of losing him somehow. This change in behaviour of his may have been due to the stress that accompanied the influx of fame he'd been drowned in, but it wasn't nice to see him fall out of my hands so easily, just like he had done earlier in the year. A selfish part of me wished his talent wasn't recognised as much as it had been. A part of me wanted Sam all to myself. Admittedly, that part of me was a big part.

I can't count the amount of times I had tried to initiate something with him and he'd just smile softly, but his eyes weren't bright alongside the grin, just empty. Not even sex, just a conversation. He always shut my attempts down with a comment about his fatigue, and I'd let him go on with his evening, no matter how much effort I'd put in. One night it's a dinner, the next is planning a remake of our first date and the one after it's an everything shave and slipping into his favourite lingerie set. It never worked. I was hopeless.

The day I decided to put the Christmas decor up was when I reckon Sam realised how much his consistent absence was beginning to impact me. After I'd eaten lunch, midday on a Thursday, I poured myself my glass of Pinot Grigio, took a sip and nodded my head in determination; this job had to be done whether Sam was home or not.

I began with cleaning. A quick dust, hoover and replacing things that were rapidly becoming sparse. Then, I took myself into the spare bedroom and began to drag the many boxes from there into the sitting room. Fifteen minutes later, my apartment was cluttered full of boxes containing literal magic. And okay. I admit it. I couldn't help but smile when I pulled out the first stocking.

At around 5pm, I heard the door open and close in time for me finishing wrapping the lights, beads and tinsel around the tree. My hands were screaming with sensory overload, but the enjoyment I was having was completely worth any uncomfortable sensation that'd wear off. This? This was memorable, despite Sam not being here.

His frame lingered. My back was facing him, but his presence had became heavy since we started arguing. It was screaming that he was there and demanded that I turn around and look at him, invite him to join me. Against my optimistic judgment, I didn't, and searched for the box of baubles.

Sam coughed, then followed with, "What are you doing?" in a voice that sounded pitifully juvenile.

"Look around." I said, still not turning to face him, "I'm doing what should've been done weeks ago. I'm doing what I've been waiting for you to help me with for weeks. I've cleaned, cooked you some food and started decorating."

I'm not sure if what I said had made him upset or his realisation that his attitude had impacts on me which caused a mood one-eighty, but it happened. Once again, my back was to him as I placed the ornaments on the tree, but it was strong enough to feel.

"But we do this together, Eves." Sam whined, voice soft in a way that emphasised upset.

My eyebrow raised, I placed the sixth bauble on it's branch, "Do we?"