Five Minutes

Emotion

When he came to, he was in his home. On the couch in the living room. And he had no recollection of how he got there. Trying to get up was a mistake; his head was still pounding furiously inside his skull.

He wiped his face with his hands, sensing that he probably looked like a drunkard recuperating from a terrible hangover. That was precisely how he felt.

"You're finally awake," Veronica said, standing by the entrance of the living room.

"What time is it?" Ralston asked.

"It's one," she replied, stepping forward. "I made you breakfast. Your favorite. English muffin with bacon and eggs."

"Thanks," he said.

She sat didn't next to him. "What the fuck were you thinking?" she asked, irritated. "Jack called me last night and said you were puking your guts out. I stayed up until you were driven back here. Jack had to actually hold you up."

"I clearly wasn't thinking," he replied. Was that intended to be a rhetorical question?

"Why did you drink so much?" she asked. "It's not like you."

"It's not like you to barely eat and go weeks without talking to me." He knew it wasn't right to steer the topic to her but he was angry, and she was actually talking to him right now. If he couldn't blow off the steam now, he didn't know when his next opportunity would strike.

She said nothing.

Oh good. Maybe that chance was already gone.

"What happened? Why won't you talk to me? Why have you been ignoring me?" It might have been both the combination of the booze still swirling in his body and his frustration that caused him to become tearful. He could feel his voice shaking.

"It had nothing to do with you."

"I knew that. You started acting like this after you came back from New York. Something happened there and you're not telling me."

She stared at him for a moment, her face suddenly twisting in anger. "I think we need some time apart."

That was not a reply he would have at all predicted. Didn't she just say it had nothing to do with him? "What?" He wanted to form more words; he couldn't think of anything, he was dumbfounded.

"I think it would be for the best," she added. "I didn't know how to tell you before, but you deserve to know."

"Where is all of this coming from?" he asked.

"I had a lot of time to think when I was in New York, and I realized I don't want to be tied down anymore. We don't get to see each other that much, so what's the point?"

"What do you mean?" He'd visited her on set when he could. Granted, it hadn't been often; that was a compromise they'd agreed on when they got married. They wouldn't let the distance and their schedules interfere with their relationship.

She could have also visited him on set when she came back and she chose not to.

And if she had so much thinking to do, why did she call him sounding upset the night she attended the wrap party for Extraneous? Why did she tell him she missed him? None of this was adding up.

"I don't love you anymore. Not like that. I'm sorry, Ralston. I'm not saying any of this to hurt you."

"I don't believe you," he snapped.

"It doesn't matter what you believe. It's what I want." She stood up. "I'll go get you your breakfast." 

He watched her leave, still unable to grasp the conversation that just occurred. If she left he would never be able to understand what was going on inside her head.

His vision was blurring even more now. He swallowed hard and fought to keep them from escaping.

He was still convinced it wasn't about him, but he had no idea what it could be. But was that just his hopeless optimism? He couldn't think of any other explanation for how she'd been acting. Maybe refusing to believe her was only a product of denial. And this made him wonder if he'd done something wrong. Or had this been building up for a long time?

No. Something happened. If he didn't know any better, he would think she was depressed and getting out of telling him by demanding space. She had all the physical and emotional signs, the sudden disinterest in going out or talking to anyone. She used to like doing yoga, hiking, other things. Activities that involved her interacting with the rest of the world. And she dropped it all. It was like she had no motivation to do anything anymore.

He gave up trying to confront her. Every time he did, she got angry and defensive. They never made any progress.

Veronica returned with the English muffin on a plate in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. She set them both on the table, then left without a word.

He needed to eat but he wasn't hungry. He stared at the English muffin, losing the battle to keep himself composed. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.