I could feel his side of the mattress dip as the sun decided to peek through our bedroom window. I’d been lying here awake for at least an hour waiting for some movement from him. My mind had raced, and I needed to get this off my chest.
“Jackson.” I spoke with intent but was met with silence. I knew he was awake, I could tell by the change of rhythm in his breathing.
I hated when he did this.
“Hey,” I spoke a little louder this time.
“Yeah.” His voice was raspy and cut through the air.
Just say it.
I rolled over to face him and was met with disappointment. His appearance really hit me in the morning light. He wasn’t the boy I fell in love with. He wasn’t even the man I had married anymore. He was this shell of a person. He used to have the most expressive eyes that I could read like a book. Now they were filled with emptiness, just glassy and hollow.
It was sad, really.
“You know you have a problem, right?” The words came out harsh, and although it wasn’t the way I intended it to sound or even the words I meant to use, they were my feelings.
“Don’t do this shit right now, Rach,” he spat at me while staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest defensively.
“Is there ever a right time, Jackson? I’ve ignored it for too long. I keep sweeping it under the rug, not wanting to fight. But I can’t keep doing this. You have a drinking problem. You have to realize that.” My voice was softer this time, my emotions on my sleeve, missing the boy I fell for all those years ago.
He let out a loud sigh and offered up more silence.
“I’m serious. I can’t keep doing this,” I repeated, hoping to get my point across without actually having to say it. The word “divorce” made me sick to my stomach, and I didn’t want to use it if I didn’t have to.
“I’m not an alcoholic. Trust me.” He scoffed and shook his head.
“You drink every single day.” I sat up, staring down at his thin body. “And not just a couple of beers after work. You get drunk on whiskey—Every. Day. What do you call that?” I couldn’t help but get defensive. I wouldn’t let him make me believe that my worries were for nothing or that I was being dramatic. Not about this, too.
“It’s not like I need it. I can quit if I want.” He rolled his eyes, and I wanted to punch him in the face for acting this way. I just wanted him to admit there was a problem.
“So quit.” I matched his nonchalant attitude and tone.
“Fine. Fuck.” He groaned, throwing the comforter off his body and launching to his feet.
I could feel the irritation brewing in the air.
“I’ll stop, will that make you happy?” He squinted at me and gave me a look I didn’t like.
“I’ve got a list.” My voice was laced with disgust, and I realized this conversation took a wrong turn and wouldn’t go in the direction I wanted.
“What the hell does that mean?” He stomped to my side of the bed and hovered over me. But I refused to let him bully me, so I stood up and met him.
“It means, you’re not who you used to be. The old Jackson would want to protect me when all this shit was going on around us. People are being murdered, Jackson. He’s on the loose, and he’s coming after me. After us! And all you care about is drinking and going to the bar.” Unwelcome tears streamed down my face.
“Not this again.” He had the nerve to let out a chuckle, and my anger bubbled up and spilled over.
My hand connected with his cheek in a loud crack. My action shocked me, as I brought both hands down to my sides, wishing I hadn’t done that. We’d made a promise to each other so many years ago to never lay a hand on one another. And we never had. Until this moment.
And I was the one who’d broken the promise.
But my guilt was fleeting when he laughed at me and rubbed his cheek.
“Nice, Rachel.” He shook his head and gave me a smirk.
I knew I should apologize, but his reaction prevented me from doing so. This whole situation was spinning out of control, and I needed to cut it off before it got any worse.
But my own temper wouldn’t allow me to walk away. I wanted to fight this out. I wanted to fix this and force Jackson to be who he used to be. I wanted him to see this for what it was.
“How can you not see what’s happening? He saw us that day. He’s coming after us! Why won’t you listen to me?” My voice rose with each word, trying to get him to understand.
He gave me a cold hard stare, and I knew I was wasting my time. This whole conversation was a waste. “Because it’s fucking stupid.”
And there was that word again.
Maybe he wasn’t calling me stupid directly this time, but it felt the same.
I closed my eyes and tried to ignore his cackle that still rang in the air.
Escape.
I had to get away from him before I lost it completely. I always worried about pushing people’s buttons, but right now, he was pushing mine, and I felt myself teetering on the edge.
I’d already used my hand to slap him across the face. Now part of me wanted to attack him with every part of my body.
Slap.
Punch.
Kick.
Bite.
I had to get away before I allowed my temper to take control.
“Forget it, Jackson. This whole conversation was pointless.” My voice shook beyond control and we weren’t getting anywhere.
“Finally! She gets it!” he bellowed, locking his eyes to the ceiling with his arms outstretched.
“I’m staying at Sara’s tonight,” I seethed with my teeth clenched together and forced myself to turn my back on him. I needed distance from him. I needed a barrier. So I headed toward the bathroom to be alone.
“Of course you are.”
I stared over my shoulder one last time and watched him slide his legs into the jeans that lay wadded up on the floor on his side of the bed.
I closed the bathroom door behind me and pressed my back against it, my body shaking against the cold wood. I listened as his feet stomped across the floor once he put his boots on, and his heavy footfalls echoed in the air. It was amplified in my ears, along with the slamming of the front door.
I allowed myself to exhale as I slid down to the cold tile, folding my knees to my chest.
Disappointment filled my senses.
Disappointment in Jackson.
Disappointment in me.
Disappointment in this life I’d made for myself.