Chapter 21
As I wash the dishes, I stare out the window, watching the sun fall and the sky light up in orange hues.
Zay texted me saying he would be late from work only a couple of hours ago.
I thought he would be an hour or two late, but I’ve cooked and eaten, and now I’m washing the dishes and he’s still not home.
He doesn’t answer when I call him. I’m assuming he’s really busy and can’t answer.
He’s always been one to answer my calls, and now, come to think of it, he’s hasn’t been lately.
Everything was great between us after his apology until recently.
Everything’s been dwindling away again. The buzzer of the washer goes off.
Just in time, because I barely finished the dishes.
A huge yawn escapes me as I walk over there, regretting such a late load of laundry.
I’m exhausted already and the last thing I want to do is hang my clothes to dry.
I hate drying my clothes because they always shrink.
They’re never the same after drying them.
I place the wet clothes into the basket and walk it over to our room.
I get a whiff of Zayn’s cologne coming from our closet as I enter to get hangers.
The smell heightens my physical emotion for him.
My center pulses at the heightened pull for him.
I’m going to have to have my way with him once he gets home.
I had to use part of Zayn’s side of the closet to hang up all the wet clothes. Since I have so many clothes, I barely have room to hang the wet ones to dry.
I hear footsteps as I turn around and see Zayn fully-dressed in his work clothes. “Hey, babe.”
“Hi,” he says, reaching into the shower and turning the knobs.
Oh nice, he’s getting in the shower. I imagine all the ways I can have my way with him. I go back into our closet, peeking at him as he undresses. The steam swirls around the bathroom as he steps into the shower. We have a glass shower, so I stand watching him as the water drips down his body.
I undress in our walk-in closet that connects to the bathroom.
I do it quietly so he doesn’t hear me, so I can surprise him when I get in.
As I make my way over to the shower, his eyes are closed, his head tilts back, letting the water run over his head.
I slowly open the shower door, and he immediately stops what he’s doing and looks over at me, startled.
“What are you doing?” he asks with a bitter tone.
My head jerks back at his tone. I freeze, staring at him as he eyes me. “Uhh, what does it look like I’m doing?”
He turns his gaze away from me. “I’m not in the mood.”
My shoulders slump as I look him over once more. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he spits as if he’s mad at me for even thinking of stepping into the shower with him.
My heart sinks as I step out of the shower. I grab the towel and wrap it around myself, feeling very uncomfortable being naked in front of him. I hurry off to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
Disappointment washes over me as I lie down on the bed. I circle back to the past couple of weeks and what changed between then and now. We were doing so good. Is he not attracted to me anymore?
I used to always wear business casual clothes, my hair always curled and a full face of makeup since I worked in an office.
Now I’m always in leggings and a sports bra.
But what else am I going to wear if I’m at home baking?
I try to at least look presentable with a tinted moisturizer and a coat of mascara on my lashes.
I usually curl my hair on the weekends, and it lasts during the week until hair wash day.
My mind is running with so much of what it could be.
I need to ask him.
The sound of the running water stops, followed by the squeak of the shower door opening. I lie here, my heart pounding with anticipation to ask him, hoping it won’t start another argument.
“Violet!” he yells.
I jump off the bed and swing the bathroom door open to see what the fuss is all about. He’s staring at my hung clothes in the closet.
I’m standing here with my hand on my chest, thinking something happened.
“What?” I ask, walking closer to him.
He narrows his gaze at me with his brows furrowed so hard. “Why are your clothes hanging on my side of the closet?”
My mouth opens, shocked at his questions. “What? Are you kidding me? You yelled my name as if something bad happened. I come running in here only for you to ask me why my clothes are on your side?” I stare at him in disbelief.
“I couldn’t even get to my shirts because you pushed them all the way back and put yours in front.”
My arms hang at my sides, and I’m full of disbelief. “What the fuck, Zay. You act like it’s so hard to push them over, grab your shirt and then push them back.”
He turns his back toward me and pushes my clothes with so much force that some hangers pop off the bar. “I shouldn’t have to do that,” he scoffs.
“It’s not that big of a deal. Why are you getting so mad over something so stupid?”
He throws his shirt over himself aggressively. “It’s not stupid,” he says and walks out.
Frozen in shock, I watch him stomp out of the room.
I grab the hangers that fell off the bar and hang them back up.
I pull the wet clothes back over, leaving an inch between each item to allow them to dry.
Whatever is going on with Zayn, it’s not my problem.
He can tough it out with me hanging my clothes on his side of the closet.
It’s something I always do, and he’s never had a problem with it before.
Are you kidding me? How dumb.
I lie in bed, trying to focus on my book, hoping it will tire me out and help me fall asleep.
Reading has always been my nightly routine, a way to unwind.
But tonight, I can’t concentrate on a single word.
My mind keeps circling back to Zayn’s outburst over something so stupid.
He still hasn’t come to bed, and I assumed he’d come after dinner, but now it feels like he’s avoiding me.
My body feels restless. Every nerve is pulsing with tension, making it impossible to settle down, let alone drift off to sleep.
After what feels like hours of lying in bed staring at the ceiling, Zay still hasn’t come to bed. I quietly open the door to the bedroom and walk down the stairs. As soon as I turn the corner, I see him on the couch, fast asleep with the TV on. This is unbelievable. First, he turns sex down.
Again.
Then he freaks out over my clothes, all for him to be sound asleep on the couch.
And I’m over here in bed with the most anxiousness I’ve had in a while.
Making my thoughts run wild with all kinds of scenarios of what could be going on.
Jesus Christ. I’m freaking myself out for nothing if he’s sleeping like a baby.
I huff and stomp my feet upstairs, hoping to wake him.