Back For Good
One Shot
It had been two days, seven hours and twenty-four minutes since she’d walked out.
I felt truly pathetic. Firstly because I let her go without putting up a fight, and secondly because I was miserable enough to count the time since she’d left.
The room around me was a mess. I had taken to looking about, almost in anticipation, since the front door had slammed with a crushing degree of finality. The coffee table was upturned, as was the sofa. Feathers from cushions and shards of glass from smashed bottles of Jack Daniels had mingled on the floor, which was hardly visible due to the disorder. The remnants of an acoustic guitar lay near the door, splinters of wood and coiled strings cluttered together in chaos. I had inflicted this; in pain and anger, upset and confusion.
The phone began ringing, chiming annoyingly through the air. I glared in its general direction, not having the motivation or patience to retrieve it and talk to anyone. Eventually it cut to the machine, and I heard her voice echo in my head;
“Hi, we’re not here at the moment. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
I closed my eyes as the machine beeped, and the brash tones from one of my best friends reverberated through the room, “Zack? Zacky dude, I know you’re there. Answer the phone man, we’re all worried about you.”
“Fuck off Bri,” I muttered to myself, resting my head back into the cushioned headrest of the armchair. Despite my quiet protest, he continued, “Dude, I know you’re hurting. You have to talk to someone. Cooping yourself up is only gonna make it worse man.”
I rolled my eyes as his tone grew impatient, “Look, I’m here if you wanna talk, you can’t lock yourself away forever. Speak to you soon man. Chin up, alright?”
I sighed as he hung up. I didn’t want relationship advice, I just wanted my girl back in my arms. We’d seemed happy, steady even. I had no idea that things would’ve turned out like this; so messed up. She was perfect in my eyes, and everyone else had said we were meant to be together.
What a load of shit that was, I thought to myself, flailing my arm blindly in search of my preferred form of support. My fingers curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle and I sighed in relief as the amber liquid scolded my throat, and I closed my eyes as I thought back to the events that led up to her departure.
I heard the bedroom door open and close quietly. The sound of the front door slamming in the distance woke me up fully, and I instantly regretted opening my eyes as the sun streamed in and hit me square in the face. Shielding my vision from the harsh light, I sat up and peered around groggily. The small bedroom was as it always was, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The curtains were open, blinding me and warming my bare torso. My side of the room looked like a bomb site, whilst the other looked in far better condition. The clothes I’d worn yesterday were still tossed carelessly on the floor beside the bed, a disorganised mound of material. In short, the only thing that was missing was the body that usually laid on my left side.
After slipping on an old shirt and using the bathroom, I padded into the open plan sitting room, turning the TV set on and collapsing on the sofa, my attention instantly captured by a ball game. Time seemed to fly by and I was brought back to reality by the front door crashing shut.
She was stood there, statuesque and solid, her face immobile and set in a deep frown. I let my eyes scan her body quickly before my eyes rested upon her face. I felt my own lips curl downwards at the sight of her expression.
“Where’ve you been hun?” I asked, curious as to why she wasn’t weighted down by her usual hoard of shopping bags.
Her frown intensified and she folded her arms across her chest. Her tone was dull and lifeless as she replied, “To sort something out.”
I looked at her with raised eyebrows. Something wasn’t right, the way she was acting was suspicious. Whenever she went somewhere, she told me. If I was asleep, she’d leave a note. When she came back, I’d usually get at least a smile from her. Even on a bad day. No, something was definitely wrong.
“What did you have to sort out? If it was your car again, I’ll take it to the garage tomorrow.”
“It’s not the car,” she huffed, a sudden glint of negativity flashing in her gaze. I was well and truly stumped as I mentally flipped through the past few days, trying to remember if I’d done anything to piss her off. There was nothing I could think of, so what was up with her?
“Zack, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything baby,” I muttered curiously, looking at her intently. By now I was anxious to hear what she had to say. I anticipated that it couldn’t have been anything good by the look that was still present on her features.
I saw her inhale and exhale deeply, her eyes closing as she murmured, “I’m leaving.”
Her body didn’t shift from its still position by the door, and her face remained unchanged. My mind however, was in overdrive. Thinking I’d misheard her, I inclined my head closer and eventually I found my voice box, “You what?”
“I’m leaving.”
I heard it crystal clearly that time. My eyes stared ahead, yet my gaze looked straight through her. Did I really hear her right? Did she just say she was leaving? Suddenly my mind was racing a mile a minute as I tried to piece together what she’d just said. One question reverberated in my mind; why the hell would she want to leave?
Her voice echoed like a whip crack that banged thunderously on my eardrums, “There’s somebody else.”
I stared at her blankly as I realised what she‘d said, and something ruptured inside me as I heard those words, “You’re cheating on me?!”
She bit her lip, a nervous habit of hers. Once upon a time, I’d thought it was cute. But one nod from her was all it took for me to be on my feet, the blood pounding in my ears as I scanned her face. Yet still she stood immobile, frozen to the spot near the door.
“Who is it? How long has it been going on?!” I demanded to know, not really caring what her answers would be. She ignored my protests, her eyes still closed as I took her by the shoulders, “TELL ME!”
She fought her way out of my grip and barged past me, slamming the bedroom door and leaving me to seethe with anger. My feet began pacing, my head thumping in perfect sync with my heart. The blood that rushed through my system felt as though it were liquid fire, burning and scarring my veins and arteries with the rage I felt inside.
How could she do this to me? What had I done to deserve this? Was it the pressure of my fame that had driven her to this? Or had I done something else wrong?
I pondered these questions as I slumped on the sofa, head resting in my hands. Only last night she’d told me that she’d loved me. Was that a lie? A fickle fabrication to hide her unfaithfulness? It must’ve been - and I, Zachary Baker, had been too blind to notice.
The bedroom door opened and I stood as if on auto pilot, peering at her for some kind of answer. Her bag was packed, her knuckles white as it clutched the handle tightly. She gave me a solemn nod and swept past me silently, pulling the entrance open and vanishing behind a slammed door, down the hallway and out of my life.
That was two days, seven hours and forty-seven minutes ago.
I snorted to myself, still feeling pitiful for counting my losses. I felt the liquor churn in my stomach and mingle in my blood, coursing through my veins and distorting my mind. It was easing the pain, dulling it down and making me forget, but only slightly. I’d always laughed at others when they described what heartache felt like, and I cursed myself for ever ridiculing them. It was worse than I could have imagined, and I wanted the pain to stop. I yearned for it to end, wishing that I could see her again and that we could set things right. I’d forgive her in a heartbeat, if only she would come back and end my suffering. Slowly but surely, the alcohol consumed me and I dozed off, drifting into an uneasy slumber.
Hearing the front door creak open, my eyes shot open instantly. The bottle I was holding slid out of my grasp and began spilling across the floor, but I didn’t care. I blinked quickly, wondering if the drink had somehow made me hallucinate, or if I was still asleep but only dreaming. I was pretty far gone, and I’d always had the tendency to make stuff up - even when sober. My eyes scanned her features almost hungrily, as if she were to disappear at any moment.
But there she was, stood at the door like some kind of angel. Her bag was dropped and she walked tentatively towards me, her movements hesitant and cautious. The faint marks under her eyes signified that she hadn’t slept, and her posture was slumped from apparent tiredness. Her lips were chapped, a sign that she’d been biting at them. There was a dull yet sorrowful expression masking her features, and in that moment I knew what I was seeing was real.
I stood up as she began to cry, standing motionless in front of me. The tears streaked her eyeliner as they fell, creating watery black trails down her cheeks. Her voice broke as she muttered;
“I couldn’t leav-”
I cut her off, pressing my finger to her lips and shaking my head slightly. I didn’t need an explanation, I didn’t want to know. The only thing that mattered to me in that instant, as we stood in the centre of our apartment amongst the glass and spilled whiskey, was the fact that she was here, she was with me, and she was back.
Back for good.
I felt truly pathetic. Firstly because I let her go without putting up a fight, and secondly because I was miserable enough to count the time since she’d left.
The room around me was a mess. I had taken to looking about, almost in anticipation, since the front door had slammed with a crushing degree of finality. The coffee table was upturned, as was the sofa. Feathers from cushions and shards of glass from smashed bottles of Jack Daniels had mingled on the floor, which was hardly visible due to the disorder. The remnants of an acoustic guitar lay near the door, splinters of wood and coiled strings cluttered together in chaos. I had inflicted this; in pain and anger, upset and confusion.
The phone began ringing, chiming annoyingly through the air. I glared in its general direction, not having the motivation or patience to retrieve it and talk to anyone. Eventually it cut to the machine, and I heard her voice echo in my head;
“Hi, we’re not here at the moment. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
I closed my eyes as the machine beeped, and the brash tones from one of my best friends reverberated through the room, “Zack? Zacky dude, I know you’re there. Answer the phone man, we’re all worried about you.”
“Fuck off Bri,” I muttered to myself, resting my head back into the cushioned headrest of the armchair. Despite my quiet protest, he continued, “Dude, I know you’re hurting. You have to talk to someone. Cooping yourself up is only gonna make it worse man.”
I rolled my eyes as his tone grew impatient, “Look, I’m here if you wanna talk, you can’t lock yourself away forever. Speak to you soon man. Chin up, alright?”
I sighed as he hung up. I didn’t want relationship advice, I just wanted my girl back in my arms. We’d seemed happy, steady even. I had no idea that things would’ve turned out like this; so messed up. She was perfect in my eyes, and everyone else had said we were meant to be together.
What a load of shit that was, I thought to myself, flailing my arm blindly in search of my preferred form of support. My fingers curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle and I sighed in relief as the amber liquid scolded my throat, and I closed my eyes as I thought back to the events that led up to her departure.
I heard the bedroom door open and close quietly. The sound of the front door slamming in the distance woke me up fully, and I instantly regretted opening my eyes as the sun streamed in and hit me square in the face. Shielding my vision from the harsh light, I sat up and peered around groggily. The small bedroom was as it always was, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The curtains were open, blinding me and warming my bare torso. My side of the room looked like a bomb site, whilst the other looked in far better condition. The clothes I’d worn yesterday were still tossed carelessly on the floor beside the bed, a disorganised mound of material. In short, the only thing that was missing was the body that usually laid on my left side.
After slipping on an old shirt and using the bathroom, I padded into the open plan sitting room, turning the TV set on and collapsing on the sofa, my attention instantly captured by a ball game. Time seemed to fly by and I was brought back to reality by the front door crashing shut.
She was stood there, statuesque and solid, her face immobile and set in a deep frown. I let my eyes scan her body quickly before my eyes rested upon her face. I felt my own lips curl downwards at the sight of her expression.
“Where’ve you been hun?” I asked, curious as to why she wasn’t weighted down by her usual hoard of shopping bags.
Her frown intensified and she folded her arms across her chest. Her tone was dull and lifeless as she replied, “To sort something out.”
I looked at her with raised eyebrows. Something wasn’t right, the way she was acting was suspicious. Whenever she went somewhere, she told me. If I was asleep, she’d leave a note. When she came back, I’d usually get at least a smile from her. Even on a bad day. No, something was definitely wrong.
“What did you have to sort out? If it was your car again, I’ll take it to the garage tomorrow.”
“It’s not the car,” she huffed, a sudden glint of negativity flashing in her gaze. I was well and truly stumped as I mentally flipped through the past few days, trying to remember if I’d done anything to piss her off. There was nothing I could think of, so what was up with her?
“Zack, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything baby,” I muttered curiously, looking at her intently. By now I was anxious to hear what she had to say. I anticipated that it couldn’t have been anything good by the look that was still present on her features.
I saw her inhale and exhale deeply, her eyes closing as she murmured, “I’m leaving.”
Her body didn’t shift from its still position by the door, and her face remained unchanged. My mind however, was in overdrive. Thinking I’d misheard her, I inclined my head closer and eventually I found my voice box, “You what?”
“I’m leaving.”
I heard it crystal clearly that time. My eyes stared ahead, yet my gaze looked straight through her. Did I really hear her right? Did she just say she was leaving? Suddenly my mind was racing a mile a minute as I tried to piece together what she’d just said. One question reverberated in my mind; why the hell would she want to leave?
Her voice echoed like a whip crack that banged thunderously on my eardrums, “There’s somebody else.”
I stared at her blankly as I realised what she‘d said, and something ruptured inside me as I heard those words, “You’re cheating on me?!”
She bit her lip, a nervous habit of hers. Once upon a time, I’d thought it was cute. But one nod from her was all it took for me to be on my feet, the blood pounding in my ears as I scanned her face. Yet still she stood immobile, frozen to the spot near the door.
“Who is it? How long has it been going on?!” I demanded to know, not really caring what her answers would be. She ignored my protests, her eyes still closed as I took her by the shoulders, “TELL ME!”
She fought her way out of my grip and barged past me, slamming the bedroom door and leaving me to seethe with anger. My feet began pacing, my head thumping in perfect sync with my heart. The blood that rushed through my system felt as though it were liquid fire, burning and scarring my veins and arteries with the rage I felt inside.
How could she do this to me? What had I done to deserve this? Was it the pressure of my fame that had driven her to this? Or had I done something else wrong?
I pondered these questions as I slumped on the sofa, head resting in my hands. Only last night she’d told me that she’d loved me. Was that a lie? A fickle fabrication to hide her unfaithfulness? It must’ve been - and I, Zachary Baker, had been too blind to notice.
The bedroom door opened and I stood as if on auto pilot, peering at her for some kind of answer. Her bag was packed, her knuckles white as it clutched the handle tightly. She gave me a solemn nod and swept past me silently, pulling the entrance open and vanishing behind a slammed door, down the hallway and out of my life.
That was two days, seven hours and forty-seven minutes ago.
I snorted to myself, still feeling pitiful for counting my losses. I felt the liquor churn in my stomach and mingle in my blood, coursing through my veins and distorting my mind. It was easing the pain, dulling it down and making me forget, but only slightly. I’d always laughed at others when they described what heartache felt like, and I cursed myself for ever ridiculing them. It was worse than I could have imagined, and I wanted the pain to stop. I yearned for it to end, wishing that I could see her again and that we could set things right. I’d forgive her in a heartbeat, if only she would come back and end my suffering. Slowly but surely, the alcohol consumed me and I dozed off, drifting into an uneasy slumber.
Hearing the front door creak open, my eyes shot open instantly. The bottle I was holding slid out of my grasp and began spilling across the floor, but I didn’t care. I blinked quickly, wondering if the drink had somehow made me hallucinate, or if I was still asleep but only dreaming. I was pretty far gone, and I’d always had the tendency to make stuff up - even when sober. My eyes scanned her features almost hungrily, as if she were to disappear at any moment.
But there she was, stood at the door like some kind of angel. Her bag was dropped and she walked tentatively towards me, her movements hesitant and cautious. The faint marks under her eyes signified that she hadn’t slept, and her posture was slumped from apparent tiredness. Her lips were chapped, a sign that she’d been biting at them. There was a dull yet sorrowful expression masking her features, and in that moment I knew what I was seeing was real.
I stood up as she began to cry, standing motionless in front of me. The tears streaked her eyeliner as they fell, creating watery black trails down her cheeks. Her voice broke as she muttered;
“I couldn’t leav-”
I cut her off, pressing my finger to her lips and shaking my head slightly. I didn’t need an explanation, I didn’t want to know. The only thing that mattered to me in that instant, as we stood in the centre of our apartment amongst the glass and spilled whiskey, was the fact that she was here, she was with me, and she was back.
Back for good.