Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Jeremy’s at work, and I have nothing much to do aside from binge-watching some dramatic romance movie or taking a walk around the block. I might even go to the park.
But that’s just me procrastinating more than anything. I should sit down in front of a blank canvas, painting or drawing, but I’m stuck. I have no inspiration or motivation unless it’s one of those spur-of-the-moment things. I might feel okay for the first few minutes, maybe an hour, and then I lose the spark. I guess my life at home is boring.
I twist a strand of my hair around my finger, glancing at the half-finished sketch on the table. It’s been staring at me for days now. I know what I want to create, but the energy isn’t there. The idea of picking up the brush or a pencil feels heavy, so instead, I shift in my chair, letting it squeak as I swivel back to face my computer.
My phone buzzes, interrupting the silence, and I see Lilly’s name pop up on my screen.
Lilly
Coffee tomorrow?
Me
Sure. Noon?
It’s easier to agree to plans right now than to sit alone in this quiet house with my thoughts. Lately, it feels like Lilly’s the only person who understands that something’s been off with Jeremy and me.
I push my chair back and wander into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge. The cool air hits my face as I stare inside at the leftovers of last night’s spaghetti and some salad from earlier in the week. Jeremy’s been working late a lot. I used to make a point of cooking something special for him to come home to, but lately, I can’t even bother to reheat what’s already there.
I grab a cold bottle of water, its condensation clinging to my hand, and lean against the cool, smooth countertop, staring out the window. It’s peaceful out there. I wish it felt like that inside me.
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down. Another text from Lilly.
Lilly
Yes! How’s everything with Jeremy?
I bite my lip, feeling the familiar knot in my stomach. What should I say? Things between Jeremy and me feel like they’re unraveling slowly, like a sweater that’s been pulled one thread at a time?
Me
Same old. Work has been keeping him busy.
The door clicks open, and I turn to see Jeremy walk in earlier than expected. His shirt slung over his arm, hair still damp with sweat from work. He pauses at the door, his eyes flicking over to me for a moment before dropping his keys on the table.
“You’re back early,” I say, leaning casually against the counter. My fingers grip the cool surface behind me.
“Yeah, finished up sooner than I thought,” he replies, heading straight for the fridge without another glance. The door swings open, and I can hear the clink of bottles as he grabs a beer. He pops the cap off and takes a long sip before setting the bottle on the counter.
“Hungry?” I ask, already feeling the answer before the words leave my mouth.
“Nah, I’m good.” His response is quick, dismissive, and I feel the space between us grow a little wider.
I open my mouth to say something more, but he cuts me off. “I’m gonna head out later. The guys wanna grab a drink.” He says it like it’s already decided.
“Oh.” It comes out softer than I meant, and I straighten up, trying to mask the slight disappointment. “You just got home, though.”
He shrugs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah, but we’ve had this planned for a while.”
I look at him for a moment, weighing my words. I want to ask him to stay, to suggest we spend some time together, but something in the way he’s standing tells me it wouldn’t make a difference. He’s already out the door in his mind.
“Okay,” I say finally, forcing a small smile. “I’ll save you some dinner for later.”
Jeremy nods, and without another word, heads to the bedroom to change. I listen to the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall, the dull thud of the bedroom door closing behind him. The kitchen feels emptier now, like the silence is creeping back in to fill the space he left behind.
I walk over to the stove and stir the pasta I’d started earlier, trying to distract myself. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the kitchen, but I barely register it. My mind’s too full, running over every minor detail of our conversation—how he barely looked at me, how quick he was to leave.
Our relationship wasn’t always like this. Dull, distant.
I sit down with my plate of pasta, staring at the TV. It’s one of those romance movies where everything works out in the end, but I’m not really watching it. I’m just filling the space.
It’s nearly 9 p.m., and there’s no sign of Jeremy yet. I get up, rinse my dish, and leave the rest of the pasta on the stove. He’ll eat it when he gets home, or he won’t.
I wander into the bedroom, and for a moment, I stand there, staring at the bed we share. I’m not tired yet, but the thought of lying in it alone again makes me feel heavy.
I grab my sketchbook from the bedside table and head back to the living room, flipping through the pages. Each unfinished drawing stares back at me—pieces of something I can’t quite complete. I pick up a pencil and hover over the blank space of a new page, but the inspiration won’t come. Not tonight.
At least I tried.