crankgameplays imagines

[53] sober up - # drabble

79. "I loved you."
80. "You left me."
96. "What happened to us?"

requested by smolbeankg

♡

You were just getting home from a long shift at work, ready to just eat dinner and go to sleep. With a yawn, you set down your bag, then heard your phone buzzing from inside it. Not even looking at the caller ID, you answered it.

"Hello?"

"Y/N!" It was the voice of your friend Amy, and she sounded distressed. "Where are you?"

"My apartment. Why? What's happening?" You replied, walking down towards your bedroom.

"Is Ethan there?"

When she asked that, your blood ran cold. You and Ethan broke up nearly ten months ago. It was a messy, terrible break up, especially since you'd been dating since high school and had moved to LA together. It was hard, but you still kept your friends, you just never really hung out with Ethan anymore.

"Of course not!" You snapped. "Why the fuck would he be here?"

"Mark and Tyler went out to dinner with him, but he got a different cab than them and hasn't gotten to his house, the office, or any of our places."

"Why do you think he would come to my house?"

"They saw him texting you at dinner, but he always deleted his texts before he sent them."

With a sigh, you opened your bedroom door and put Amy on speakerphone to change into your pajamas.

"Well, I haven't seen him in almost six months." After a pause, you finally worked up the courage to ask, "Is he drunk?"

You heard her speak to someone away from the phone, then Amy relayed the message to you. "Tyler said he hasn't had a drop of alcohol in four months."

You were happy that he had gotten sober. Ever since he turned twenty-one, it was hard to get him to stop drinking. As if he had something pent up in him that he could only get out by getting shitfaced.

Pulling your shirt over your head, you cracked your back. "That's good to hear. I'll call you if I see him, okay?"

"Thanks, Y/N. I'll text you if we find him."

"Goodnight, Amy."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Back in your kitchen, you took out your leftover pasta and popped it into the microwave. Listening to the microwave whir, and a heavy storm rage outside, you reached into your fridge again for a bottle of water. While you took a swig, you pulled your pasta out and grabbed a fork. You were just taking the first bite when you heard a knock at your front door, and moved to open it.

On the other side of the door was a person you only half-expected. It was Ethan, in a drenched t-shirt and jeans. His brown hair was sticking to his forehead, he hadn't redyed it since you two broke up.

"Jesus Christ, Ethan. You've gotta be fucking freezing, dumbass." You shook your head, pulling him in your apartment before closing the door. Even if you weren't even friends, you still couldn't just leave the poor boy in the rain.

He was quiet as you went into your guest bathroom to bring out as many towels as you could carry, wrapping him up before seating him on a chair.

"Are you thirsty? I've got water, juice, milk, it's a little late for coffee, but I've got it if you really want. Don't have any beer, though. Haven't been around it in ten months." You couldn't stop yourself from getting bitter, practically spitting out your last sentences.

Ethan finally spoke up. "I'm sober."

"So I've heard." You leaned over him, sniffing to see if you could smell any alcohol. There wasn't the faintest whiff of it, but that didn't mean he hadn't drunk recently, just not tonight.

Walking into your kitchen, you brought out a mug, pouring some milk into it. You stuck it into the microwave for a bit, then took it back out. Grabbing a hot chocolate packet from your pantry, you emptied the contents of it into the warm milk, stirring it around.

"Here, this should warm you up." You held the hot chocolate out to Ethan.

He accepted it, not moving to even take a sip of it, just holding it between his hands. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"It's exhausting being mad at someone. Being indifferent is much easier. But don't confuse it for kindness."

Ethan paused, silent for another moment. As you looked at him, hunched over and defeated, you knew that you weren't as indifferent as you said you were. Feelings and memories still stirred around inside you, you were just better at keeping them at bay. You used to be able to talk to him about anything and everything, but now you couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"What happened to us?" Ethan wondered aloud.

You looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean, 'what happened to us?' You know damn well what happened. You lied to me about where you were, and I only found out when someone would call me to pick you up because you were too hammered to drive. You made me get fired for skipping too many days of work to take care of your perpetual hangovers. You refused mine or any of your friends' help to get sober. You left me alone on my birthday, our anniversary, and almost every night. You happened to us."

At your last statement, Ethan's head snapped up, anger flashing across his features. "Don't talk like it was all my fault. You left me. When I was at my most vulnerable, you stopped caring about me. So I stopped caring about me."

You laughed dryly at his statement. "I didn't stop caring, I cared too fucking much that it hurt. I was in pain constantly, but you were never home, always drinking somewhere. I loved you, but apparently that wasn't enough, you wanted alcohol more than you wanted me."

Ethan had set down the mug as you spoke, and you felt your voice shaking. You were going to start crying soon, and you didn't want to do it in front of him.

"I'm proud of you for being sober. You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I want you gone when I wake up to go to work."

With that, you left him there, retreating into your bedroom. You hadn't even eaten your pasta, but your appetite was gone now. It felt nice to get some things off your chest without it turning into you screaming and crying while Ethan slurred and yelled back at you. Exhausted, you fell onto your bed, going to sleep almost immediately.

When you woke up, you made no rush to go downstairs to see if Ethan had followed your directions. In fact, you gave him some extra time to leave, slowly washing your face, choosing your outfit, and you even put on some makeup. All to delay your exiting of your bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your door and stepped out. You heard no noises, and took a look around your kitchen, then your living room, then all the bathrooms and the spare bedroom.

Ethan was nowhere to be found, he had left. You asked him to, so why did you feel so disappointed at his absence?