Album One Shots

I lay silently facing the window in the bed next to her, ignoring her, unsure if she’s even still awake. I just stare out the crack in the curtain, watching as the rain falls in front of the streetlight and onto the empty street. I wish I could open the window and feel the cold air on my skin to remind me that I’m alive, because right now I feel nothing but numb. I couldn’t care less that she is just as unhappy with me as I am with her. That she’ hurting. That I’m the one who hurts her just as she’s the one who hurts me. I often lay here in the dark wondering how I got here and how we became this.

I remember the day I first met her like it was yesterday. She wasn’t beautiful by any means, but I was immediately captured by her confidence. I had watched her from the bar initially, as she danced alone in the middle of the floor, her slender hips swaying from side to side to the beat of the song I used to remember the name of. Her dark eyes had met mine and beckoned me forward with a curled finger. I don’t dance, but like a siren drawing out ships to their demise, she called to me and I came without question. She pulled me to her and we moved as though our bodies were one, something I wasn’t used to at all. My friends had whistled at us, laughing and making jokes… but they didn’t get it. They couldn’t feel the pure electricity that I had felt at her touch. I held her close because with one look she had me convinced that I needed her more than the air in my lungs.

I had never felt like that about anyone. I was a love them and leave them kind of guy. Known by my friends for being a player with an insatiable need that would never be satisfied by just one woman. Until her.

I feel her sit up beside me and I close my eyes, hoping that she still believes that I’m asleep. I hear her sigh and then throw her legs off the side of the bed. She pads across our bedroom floor and over to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. I open my eyes again and turn onto my back, glancing at the bathroom door before staring up at the bare ceiling. Her phone buzzes on her bedside table and I clench my jaw.

I remember the first few months we had spent together, filled with passion and the naïve belief that she would be my forever. That I would love her until the day I died. That’s why I had asked her to marry me.

I remember sitting with her in the park, wrapped in a blanket, watching the sun go down in silence. It’s amazing how when you’re in love, silence seems like an old friend that draws you closer. Now, silence feels like the cold hard wall that we build together when we are screaming at one another. She had taken a long drag from the cigarette we had been sharing and exhaled slowly, letting the wisps climb up into the breezeless summer evening. She held it up for me and I took a drag, blowing it out as smoke rings, making her smile as she then did the same. Without a word I did it again, taking her left hand and slowly pushing her fourth finger through a fading remnant of one.

“Marry me.” I had whispered quietly into her hair. She had turned to face me with a half-smile, gave me a small nod and pressed her lips to mine. I thought that night was the beginning of everything that would ever made me happy in this lifetime. Instead, at nineteen years old, I had just sold my soul to the devil. My parents were furious, doing everything in their power to stop me, trying to tell me that three months was too fast and that I was too young, but I wouldn’t listen. I was too caught up by love. We were married three months later.

I look around the bedroom I’m still laying in ten years later and remember how it felt when we first moved in. I looked over at the doorway and could see my younger self leaning against the doorframe, looking around happily at what would be our room one day. I see her standing in front of the bathroom door as she spins around and smiles at me.

“Baby, this is our house, can’t you feel it? Can’t you just imagine raising kids here one day?” Her voice had sounded like music to my ears back then. I had grinned back at her and nodded. I can’t remember if I felt it or not. I remember having a burning need to make her happy though, so if she wanted this house, she would have it. If she wanted a thousand kids, she would have them. She had wanted my everything. I had given it to her. And then some.

We had moved into the house together after our honeymoon, and I thought that would be it, that life with her would be perfect. Two months later, I caught her cheating for the first time.

I remember walking into the house and thinking that something didn’t seem quite right. I had been away for a few weeks, touring with my band that had been gaining popularity. I had come back a few days early thinking that I would surprise her. I walked into the living room, expecting to find her lazing around, watching TV or reading a book, but she wasn’t there.

Her blouse was though.

Crumpled in a heap on the cream carpet that we had picked out together, next to a blue t-shirt I didn’t recognise. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I clenched my fist when I noticed the half empty wine glasses on the coffee table. I turned and glared at the stairs, unable to move, unsure if it was anger or disbelief that was keeping me glued to the spot when I knew what my wife was doing above my head.

I walked slowly toward the steps and quietly climbed them. I begged internally that I was wrong, that there was some explanation for what I had found. A quick turn of my bedroom doorknob told me that I was wrong. There she was, sitting naked, atop of some guy I thought I had seen at our local coffee house or something. I didn’t particularly care who he was though. It didn’t matter. We had our first real fight once he had scrambled half naked out the door.

“Baby I don’t know what happened! I don’t know why I did it!” She had sobbed with her head in her hands while I fought back the urge to pull her close to me, even when she had broken me inside, I found it so hard to see her upset.

“In our bed… In our fucking bed, Ella!” I had said, my voice cracking as images of her on top of him had flooded my mind.

“Baby, I’m sorry…” She had choked out, looking up at me with red brimmed eyes, “You’ve been gone so long and it was a moment of weakness… I was just so lonely and I shouldn’t have, it meant nothing, I swear!”

I remember being flooded with guilt then, thinking it was my own fault for leaving her alone for weeks on end. I had held my arms out, cradled her to my chest and actually apologised to her. Because I didn’t know back then what I knew now. That she was a liar. A good one. That she was exactly the same as I had been before I met her. That she spoke the same lines. That she played the same damn games. That she would cheat again. And again. That every time I would forgive her because I loved her more than anything.

I remember the first time that I had thought about leaving her when I had found racy texts on her phone. I had packed my bag, grabbed my dog, prepared to leave everything else behind and start again. But she was one step ahead.

“I’m pregnant!” She had shouted at me desperately, as I had turned to leave the kitchen after telling her goodbye. I remember the plethora of emotions that suddenly ran through me. I turned to face her.

“Like that changes anything when you can’t even guarantee that it’s mine.” I scoffed. She had then walked over to our mail rack and produced a sheet of paper from the doctor's office.

“The DNA test says otherwise.” She said simply. I looked at the piece of paper and felt my heart sink. She knew I would never leave my own child.

I resented her throughout her pregnancy. I saw the baby as the chain around my ankle, keeping me shackled to the dream that had slowly turned into a nightmare. When she had the baby I was a little happier for a while. His pink pudgy hand wrapped around my little finger minutes after he was born and I instantly fell in love with him, fat tears of pride rolling down my cheeks as I stared down at the life I had helped to create. She had given me the best thing that would ever happen to me. Finley couldn’t fix us though.

She went back to her old habits and I slowly grew to hate her as much as I love her.

That was when we started slipping into what we are now. This toxic mess of two people who can’t speak without screaming, crying and throwing things at one another. She swears that every time is the last time and I leave her for a couple of days, promising that I will never come back.

But it is never the last time.

And I always come back.

We fight because it’s the only way to feel anything other than numbness anymore. I make comments that I know will hurt her when our son isn’t around, hoping that she is just as broken inside as I am. I hurt her because I can. I hurt her because she hurts me and that seems to be the only way that we know how to communicate anymore.

The bathroom door opens and my eyes snap shut again. She steps quietly over to the bed and picks up her phone. I hear her fingers tapping gently on the screen and seconds later I hear it buzz again. I know she is texting him. Whoever this weeks ‘him’ may be. A few seconds later, she is creeping out of the room and I know she is going downstairs to speak to him.

“Hey baby…” I hear her giggle softly before the living room door closes. I remember when she used to call me that.

I wait a few moments and sit up, annoyed that she is at it again. A small part of me can’t deny the excitement I feel at the prospect of real emotion that is only moments away though. I get up and walk softly across the floor, throwing on some jeans and trainers, ready to go downstairs and catch her in the act.

I stop outside of my sons room as I tiptoe down the corridor, the door cracked open just as he likes. I close it gently with a small click. I feel sorry that he has to listen to what’s about to happen and that tomorrow morning when he wakes up I won’t be there for the millionth time. I pause looking at the handmade sign that hangs on his door, running my fingertips softly over his name and a tear falls from my eye. I suddenly find myself turning the doorknob again and walking into his room. I smile at him, curled up in a ball at the wrong end of the bed with his head almost hanging off the side. I gently move him so that he is back on his pillow and tuck him back under the covers. I catch myself smiling as he mumbles something about a dinosaur before leaning down and planting a small kiss on his forehead.

“Daddy?” The small voice stops me in my tracks as I am creeping quietly to the door. I turn to face him with a small smile.

“Hey bud, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!” I whisper, coming back over to the side of his bed as he sits up.

“Is it morning yet?” He asks sleepily, as he sits up and rubs his eyes. I sit down on the side of his bed with a small smile.

“Yes, but it’s not time to get up yet…” I say as he looks out the window, noting the darkness and then reaches for the cup of water that he always goes to bed with.

“Can you lay with me?” He asks as he places the water back on the table next to him. I smile and nod as he lays back down and I take my place next to him. I am squashed next to the wall with my feet hanging over the end of his small bed, an uncomfortable position to be in, but I don’t care. I treasure these small moments I have with my son. I take his small hand in my own and rub circles on the back of it slowly, as I close my eyes expecting that he will do the same.

“Are you and Mummy sad, Daddy?” His question surprises me in the darkness and I open my eyes to look at him. He is facing the ceiling and I can see by the night light that his eyes are open.

“Why would you ask that? Are you?” I counter quietly, avoiding answering the question myself since I don’t want to lie to him. He seems to think for a second.

“No, but our teacher says that bullying makes people sad…” He whispers thoughtfully, “Bullying is when you say nasty things to someone else all the time… you and Mummy say nasty things to each other when I’m playing.” My heart breaks instantly knowing that he hears and see’s what goes on between his mother and I. I don’t even know what to say to him.

“Mummy and I just say things we don’t mean sometimes when we’re angry…” I whisper back, trying to reassure him.

“Why are you both angry all the time?” He asks after a few seconds, catching me off guard thinking that I had convinced him that it was nothing to worry about. I nuzzle my head into his shoulder, inhaling his naturally sweet scent as I pull him in to snuggle closer, trying to think of the best way to answer his question.

“I’m never angry with you bud.” I answer finally, “What else have you been doing in school this week?” I add trying to change the subject.

“We learnt about butterflies with Miss. Wright… I won at races with Logan… and my girlfriend wanted to get married so I had to break up with her.” He states matter-of-factly. The stark change in his conversational topics make me smile wider than I have in a while.

“Well that’s good, you’re far too young to get married.” I chuckle quietly as I close my eyes again.

“I’m never going to get married.” He states quietly as he snuggles into me.

“You’re not?” I ask curiously.

“No, I don’t want to be angry and have to have timeouts and leave my house all the time.” My light-hearted mood instantly fades away as I look down at my son who is now laying with his eyes closed tucked into me.

“Timeouts?” I ask, trying to keep the sadness from my voice.

“Yeah, that’s where Mummy said you go sometimes when you’re gone in the mornings… on a daddy timeout.” He whispers with a yawn. I don’t say anything else as I lay there quietly listening to his breathing, which eventually evens out into light snoring.

I gently get myself out of his bed and successfully leave his room without waking him up again. I hesitate at the top of the stairs, knowing that my wife is on the phone to her lover downstairs but so horrified at what my son has learnt about marriage from watching us that it makes me pause.

I consider my options right now. I could leave her for real. File for divorce and get split custody over Finley. As much as she infuriates me, the thought of leaving her for good upsets me. I love her still. After all these years, after everything she’s done. I stilllove her. So, I could stay. We could carry on the way that we always have and just hope that one day it gets better.

I walk back into the bedroom and sit on the end of my bed in the dark, thinking. I don’t know how long it’s been before the door opens slowly, my wife, trying to quietly come back to our bed.

“Jesus Christ Luke!” She hisses as she clutches her chest when she turns around and sees me sitting at the end of the bed. She looks me up and down and sees that I’m wearing my jeans and trainers.

“You’re leaving?” She asks. I look up and meet the dark eyes that are watching me cautiously.

“We’re going to talk… And then I might.” I say. Her eyes turn suspicious as I tap the bed beside me, she hesitates before taking a seat.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks after a few seconds. I can tell by her stance that she is getting ready to defend herself if need be, her back is up and she thinks I’m trying to trick her into an argument. I feel sick knowing that this is what we have come to expect from one another. This ends tonight.

“Remember when I asked you to marry me, you asked me to love you until the day I died Ella, and I still do.”

She furrows her brow at my unexpected statement and then nods slowly.

“We are so far from lost from what we were when we first met… I feel like every time I leave it could be the last time, but a few days away from you and I feel like someone has removed a limb, I need you. But this…” I gesture toward her phone and she looks down at it guiltily, “… This, I don’t need… this, I don’t want… and neither do you.”

“How do you know what I want, Luke?” She challenges quietly. I sigh and then reach my hand out to her face, it is the first time I have touched her in months. I immediately feel the sudden spark of electricity and I can tell from the way she closes her eyes that she feels it too. I lean in and press my lips to hers. I can’t remember the last time I kissed her but my lips still mould to hers perfectly as they move together, I pull away and look her in the eyes.

“If someone could replace me you would have left, you see my face in every one of them, I know you do.” I say quietly. Her dark eyes sparkle as they fill with real tears for the first time in years. I wipe them away with my thumb softly as I lean in, putting my forehead to hers.

“But this has to be it. The last time.” I say. She nods and crashes her lips back to mine desperately, the first time we have felt connected in years. The first time we have actually communicated in years.



A few weeks have passed since our conversation.

It is two in the morning. I am laying naked in my bed, with my wife curled into my side as I stare at the ceiling unable to sleep. The feeling of numbness that I felt in the past has gone away to be replaced with happiness at the rekindled closeness between us.

Then her phone buzzes on the bedside table. Who knew that one sound could rip the last little bit of hope I had been holding onto by my fingertips away so cruelly?

I look down at her, she sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware that I know she’ll never change as a small tear rolls down my cheek. I gently remove myself from our bed, pull some clothes on and shove some spares into a small duffel bag, making sure not to wake her up as I do. I creep quietly down the corridor and stop outside my son’s room. I lay my head to his doorframe, hating myself.

“I’m sorry bud.” I whisper to him. I know he is asleep but part of me hopes that he heard it. I hope that one day he’ll understand that I tried to end this for his sake.

I sneak downstairs and out of the front door, into the cold, wet night. I consider calling a taxi, but instead make the decision to walk. I step out into the rain and begin making my way to the nearby hotel I am familiar with. As I get to the end of the street I turn back to look at my house. The numbness I know so well spreading through me like a poison, turning me back into the dead man walking that I had become. She promised me that it was the last time and I promise myself that I won’t go back.

But it wasn’t the last time.

And I’ll always go back.

Notes

Okay, so, this was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys like it as much as I do!

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Let me know in the comments what you think of when you hear this song!

Lola xo