Traffic Lights ✓(tronnor)

9. problematic ♡

I can feel the sun peeking through the curtains of our bedroom onto my eyelids, I open my eyes and I am blinded by the beams of the afternoon sun. I look over to the side, Connor is still fast asleep, he sleeps like a little rose, it's too cute. I grab my phone, it's 2 pm. Not too bad, but kind of odd. Usually Connor wakes up at least 2 hours before I do. I step out of bed and go to the living room to make myself some breakfast. Maybe I would even cook some eggs for Connor. As I walk into the kitchen I immediately notice something's off. In a split second I see a red traffic light, but it disappears as soon as it appeared. I look at the counter, 2 empty bottles of vodka. And I didn't drink them. I sigh, I could have seen that coming. I go on to make myself some blueberry pancakes. After a while, Connor stumbles down the stairs, 'Good morning, what smells so good?' he says as he walks op to me and pecks me on my forehead. I stay silent and don't move. 'Troye?' Connor asks, studying me. I glance over to the kitchen, hinting at the bottles and then I look back at Connor. He looks at the ground, like a little boy who was just caught stealing a chocolate bar. I stare at him passive, agressively. 'Con?' I ask, 'what the hell?' I add. Connor stays silent as he wobbles on his feet, he avoids all eyecontact. He's struggling with all the words inside of his brain, but nothing comes out. 'Forget it' I say harshly. And I turn back to my pancakes and the magazine that I was reading, but I cannot concentrate on the words. My eyes glance over the paper but the words just don't make their way into my brain. How could he do this? I know how he can get when he is sad, but this is on another level, and it is only getting worse. I have never seen him more miserable than now. And he needs me, I know he does but he keeps pushing me away. And no matter how much I want to confront him, I know I shouldn't. Connor gets some cereal and sits across from me, he eats it while staring at his notebook. I want to say something; ask him how the book's going, if he has already thought of something. But I stay quiet, I can't surrender to him, he needs to know that his behaviour is starting to get problematic. Which is kind of ironic, coming from me. 'Have you paid off our new tv yet?' Connor suddenly asks. I clench my teeth. I shake my head, as I stare into his eyes. 'No, Connor. I have NOT, paid off our new tv.' I exclaim. He flinches, 'sorry..' he mumbles. I stay silent, the only thing audible is our vintage clock ticking in the background. I stare at my magazine again, and back at my husband. I clench my fists. 'For what? Connor, For what are you sorry?' I yell. He flinches again as he looks at me, tears well up in his eyes, but he holds them back, instead gets mad at me, as always. 'Everything. Okay, fucking everything!' he yells back. 'And you know, you should be sorry too, for fucking Tyler' he says calmly. I raise my eyebrows and take a deep breath. 'Connor, I have NEVER, EVER, fucked Tyler. And you fucking know that!' I yell back, he went too far. Connor leans back, 'that's not what he told me' he says pedantically. my forehead creases. 'When Tyler says we hooked up, he means that we kissed, because yes, we kissed. But I already told you that. And that happened before I even met you.' I explain. I stand up, 'I don't even know why I'm still explaining this. I don't owe you anything.' I state. I walk towards the stairs, Connor is still sitting at the table. I look at him 'and the reason why I haven't paid off the tv, is because we don't have money. Because oh yeah, your book sucked.' I shoot the words at him like an arrow, but they hit me too. I should have never said that, he already felt miserable enough. I quickly run up the stairs and lock myself in our bedroom. And for the record, I loved his book. Every single sentence is a masterpiece on its own. Just like he is. Or, was. Tears start rolling down my cheeks, I fall down on the bed and cry in my pillow as I can hear the beep turning up in my head again. Louder, and louder. 'FUCKING STOP IT' I yell in frustration as I lie my hands on my ears.