One Day At A Time ( A Justin Combs and Diggy Simmons Story)

Chapter 6

|Diggy's POV|

I was sitting in the studio. Shit, I had slept in the studio to be honest. This was going on the second night. It was about four in the a.m. I was at the sound board, spinning back and forth in my leather throne.

Thinking.

My wife weighed heavy on my conscience.

Don't get me wrong. Lizzie is my world. I love that girl like crazy. Yet, I hated  how she was so easily transfixed with what's real that she didn't dream anymore.

I fell in love with the poet, the musician, the go-getter. Now, that she had got it, I guess she lost it. I knew with her line of work, she had to be practical. But, damn. It's as if she was a different person. A robot almost. Lizzie from two years ago, or even from one year ago wouldn't have said the things she said about my career. Yunno, when you hear enough of something you start to believe it. And believe it or not, doubt was beginning to form in the back of my mind. Thoughts I've never encountered were creeping. I kept them at bay and expelled each one bit by bit with every track I laid.

The lyrics were flowing. The power of having a motive behind the music was energetically engrossing. But, I wasn't exactly thrilled. Why? Because the "haters" I mentioned in every song was my wife. My wife.

I know for a fact I had hit a nerve before I left. The expression on her face said it all. Deep down she acknowledged that I was right, but her pride stays on ten. My baby is the most stubborn woman on the planet. She wasn't gone let me live that down. We weren't going to speak until I apologize, because her favorite tactic in battle is the silent treatment.

To top it all of, she's so worrisome. And 99.9%, of the time, it's over nothing. God knows, all I do is work; and in Liz's mind I was probably fuckin' the brains out of the receptionist. I swear, she used her imagination for the wrong things.

Any other day, I would break down and ask for forgiveness. Yet, it would be over small scuffles. Little arguments with little meaning. This time, I couldn't do it though. Because, truth be told, I wasn't sorry. I mean, I was sorry for the way things had been going on a scale of bonding and martial duties, but I wasn't sorry for what I said about dreaming and having a baby.

It infuriated me how she kept dissing the idea of having a kid. She spoke with such disdain at the proposal it actually made me sick to my stomach . It was like I was asking for a puppy instead of a child to call our own. I know, I know. Liz would be the one carrying the child. She'd come around when she's ready. But when?

Honestly, I think what urged me to want a child more than she was due to the fact that she opposed the notion. Crazy, I know.

I missed my Lizzie.

I craved her presence. I didn't care if we talked to one another or not.

That instant, I was contemplating whether or not to go home and face her quiet, nerve wrecking wrath.

It's now or never, man. I'll just sleep in the guest room, until this is all sorted out.
__________

All was quiet when I entered the house. I checked the bedroom, and it was empty of her honey-lavender scent. Next, I peeped into the study. This was her studio.

There Lizzie was, knocked out with a bottle of wine beside her. Most likely she had drooled on the stack of papers her head was buried in.