Chapter 43
I pull up to my house, my heart pounding as dread creeps in.
I didn’t expect Zayn to be home. My anxiety heightens as the garage door slowly opens.
I was counting on him being at the gym or at work.
My palms grow sweaty as I grip the steering wheel.
I doubt he’ll say anything, which sometimes would be nice, but right now I’m sick of the silence and the wondering.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the knot in my stomach only tightens.
I slowly shut the door behind me as I walk in. Zayn stands in the kitchen, arms crossed with a smug look on his face. “Where the hell have you been?”
One thing about us is we never talked to each other like that. He’s becoming meaner, and I don’t understand why. I’m his wife, not someone he can walk all over. I’ve tried so hard not to give him the same treatment, but how long should I sit here and take it?
“It’s not like you care,” I say as I storm past him toward the stairs, almost tripping over my feet. Even though I hate the silence, arguing is even worse.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he yells.
I freeze at the foot of the stairs. My eyes narrow at him. “You tell me, Zayn.”
He throws his head back. “Don’t tell me this has to do with you thinking I’m cheating?”
I cross my arms. “Are you?”
“Jesus Christ. No. How many times do I have to tell you?” He steps closer, his jaw set tight.
“Then what is it?”
“What is it?” he shouts.
“Something is going on. What is it?”
“Fuck,” he snaps. “Nothing. You just keep making up all these crazy stories in your head.”
My eyes sting with tears I’m holding back. “I’m not crazy, Zayn,” I shout. I clench my fists at my sides, my heart aching. “Do you even hear yourself? The way you talk to me, the way you look at me... it’s like you don’t even love me anymore.”
I’m not one to yell like this or act this way, but I can only take so much.
Ashley’s words sink deeper than they did last night.
Maybe I need to act cool so I can see if he slips up.
But fuck, I think I’ve been acting more than cool this whole time.
Yeah, we fought a little before, but nothing like this. Everything keeps escalating.
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Holy shit, Vi. You’re killing me.”
I catch my breath. “I’m killing you. Have you seriously not noticed how you’ve been toward me?” I take a few steps closer to him.
He crosses his arms. “How?”
My mouth drops open. “You go out all weekend. Ignore my calls and texts, only for you to come home with dread across your face, as if I’m ruining your life.” My throat tightens at those words. Words I never thought I would be saying.
He throws his hands up. “There you go, making more shit up.”
“And there you go, bypassing everything I say.”
“It doesn’t matter what I say, you don’t believe me.”
“You’re right,” I say, and his head snaps up, eyeing me in surprise. “It doesn’t matter what you say, because your actions don’t match your words.”
We stand there, a heavy, thick silence swirling between us. He turns away, running his hands through his hair in frustration. My shaky arms grip the railing of the stairs to steady myself from the adrenaline running through my body.
How did we end up here?
I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The constant battle with him is wearing me down, stripping away the person I once was.
I feel trapped in this endless cycle of questions that don’t get answered.
The way it’s making me react and think isn’t me.
I catch myself questioning everything and walking on eggshells. It’s exhausting.
No wonder Ashely felt more relief than pain when she finally caught her husband.
All I want to do is curl up in bed, but I can’t, so instead I head upstairs, ignoring Zayn still standing there in disbelief. Disbelief from what, I don’t know, because I’m not the one going out and treating him like shit. I’m not the one looking at him like he’s a ruining my life.
The day has ended, and it felt like it dragged on. My emotions were all over the place. After our fight, I took a long shower to cool down, hoping the water would wash away my tension. Then I threw myself into baking to keep my mind off things. But the anger and hurt would not leave.
More questions flooded my mind, more than ever. More than I’d like to admit. I couldn’t help but replay the argument and every word said and yelled.
My hands shook as I measured ingredients, and at one point, tears blurred my vision, and they fell right into the batter. I had to start over, which only made the frustration worse because all I’ve wanted to do all day was go to bed.
This isn’t just affecting me; it’s affecting my work now. Baking used to make me feel happy, like it was my sanctuary. Lately, I’ve been dreading it. I’ve been dreading everything in my life that once brought me joy.
Even my marriage.
I haven’t had an appetite all day, so I didn’t make dinner for us. Zayn can fend for himself. The last couple of times, he didn’t even eat what I cooked. So why am I going to waste my time? I’m exhausted anyway.
I drift off to sleep, only to be jolted awake by Zayn storming into the room and flipping the light on.
“No dinner?” he asks sternly.
I blink quickly, trying to adjust to the light, my eyes burning from crying all day, making it hard to keep them open. “No.”
“It would have been nice to know ahead of time so I could have picked something up,” he says, standing there in his work clothes.
I look over at the blinds, seeing no light shine through. It’s already night, and he’s just coming home, bitching about dinner. The fucking nerve he has.
I squint my eyes, trying to focus on him as he glares at me, his gaze intense, like he’s waiting for me to say something.
The silence between us stretches. Does he want an argument?
Does he enjoy it? It feels like he’s doing this to get some sort of reaction from me.
I’m not sure what he wants from me anymore. I’m too tired to fight right now.
“You have nothing to say?” he asks.
“No.”
He huffs, walks out, and slams the door behind him, leaving the light on. I let out a sigh, get up and turn off the light, and drift back to sleep.