Traffic Lights ✓(tronnor)

11. you're depressed ♡

I take off my coat quickly. I'm looking forward to dinner with Zoe, and after that spending the night on the couch with some weird documentary Connor has probably already picked out. 'Hey sweetheart, ready to go?' I say as I swing the door open. Connor looks up at me, his eyes piercing through my body. They are cold, stone cold. I stand still, not knowing how to react, confused as to why my husband is giving me goosebumps by just looking at me. A flash of a red traffic light appears, It's big, dark and demented. The beep turns up, loud, piercing in sync with Connor's eyes. Has he been drinking? My head starts to spin, black spots on my vision. The room is silent, you could almost hear Connor's blood flowing, racing, through his veins. He eventually breaks the silence. 'Lucy called.' He says monotone, with a threatening aftertaste to his voice. My heart drops to my stomach. 'o-oh..' I utter. The beep softens with the break of silence. 'She wanted me to tell you, that she really loved your writing, and she especially liked this particular story called: Fireproof. And she so happens, to want to rewrite it with you, and turn it into a novel' he states, again monotone. I flinch, my eyes enlighten. My mouth curves into a smile. 'wow.. wow..' I mumble. I am going to be a writer! Maybe I'm not trash after all. Connor shuts me down with his look. I gaze at the ground, I didn't want him to ruin my happiness, but he already brought it in a toxic manner, so I guess it was never pure happiness after all. Why can't he be happy for me? For us? I man up; 'Connor, what's up with the attitude?' I ask. It wasn't like him to hate on another's success. Connor raises his eyebrows as he stares past me at the tv. 'What attitude?' he says obliviously. 'Why aren't you happy for me? For us?' I ask. I walk up to him and sit down beside him. He glances over at me, his jaw is clenched. 'It's not that I'm not happy for you, I.. I pity you.' he says casually, looking down on me from the corner of his eye. I raise my eyebrows. 'What.. What do you mean..' as I utter those words the beep becomes louder and louder. 'Just, I think it's sad how you get excited over people using you.' he says with a slight pleasure in his voice and he sighs. A red traffic light appears closer and closer. Danger. Where? 'People always like you for your looks Troye. You're very pleasant to look at, you're quite the charmer. They think they have a shot at getting in your pants.' he goes on. My stomach turns upside down, I start to feel nauseous. 'You're just jealous, Connor..' I tell him. This isn't him, it can't be him. He isn't malicious like the way he's acting. 'Lucy, Tyler, they don't want you. They want your D.' he says. 'Okay, what the fuck? That's not true at all Connor, and you really should let that thing about Tyler go, it was nothing!' I yell indignantly. What has he become? I can't help but think that maybe there is some truth to what he's saying, but in order to keep my sanity I have to let that go. For the sake of both of us. 'Just accept it T, to some people you're just a D.' Connor laughs. I frown as I look at him worriedly. I lean in closer. 'Have you been drinking?' I ask. He backs away. 'No.' The red light appears, he's lying. 'Don't lie to me Connor' 'I'm not! Why do you always accuse me of being an alcoholic!' He yells. I flinch, my jaw drops in disbelief. 'Just look at yourself Connor!' I yell back at him, a lump appearing in my throat. The beep buzzing in my head, my knees becoming limp. 'You're fucking depressed!' I cry. Connor's jaw drops as he flinches. He then clenches his jaw and looks at me in disgust.  I can cut the tension with a knife. He leans in to me. 'Well you're quite the mental one yourself, if I may say so.' 

red.

light.

beep.

pills.

black spots, my vision blurs as I run to the kitchen to prevent the rope in my head from snapping. I snatch my pills and put 5 in my mouth. I slide down the cabinet as I bury my face in my hands, tears are streaming down my face and my heart is beating slowly. What has become of him? Of us?