MRS. WEST

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟚

I spit out the coffee I just made and set the cup down to think about what went wrong. Lately, I haven't been able to make good coffee to keep me up, and it's annoying me badly. On the third attempt, I just dumped the leftover liquid out and washed the cup.

I was washing the spoon and other utensils in the sink when I hear the door open. Heavy boots echo through the mansion followed by the clinking of keys.

I hear him call out. "Dix?"

I don't answer.

"Hey baby," He calls out a little louder this time. "You up?"

He finds me in the kitchen, but I don't turn around. I can already guess what he looks like– tired, probably still smells like smoke, and messy hair my hands used to run through.

I feel a pair of hands grab my shoulders before they fall to my waist. His touch feels warm and familiar, but my body goes stiff. I tense up as his arms wrap around my stomach.

"There you are," he whispers, resting his head on the crook of my shoulder. "I missed you."

I pull his arms off firmly. "I'm busy."

"You've been busy since morning." He says. I really wasn't busy at the moment, unless you call washing a clean cup busy.

"For what it's worth," he tries again, his voice lighter now. "I brought food. Your favorite."

He drops the bag of sushi on the counter next to me. I don't even look at it– I didn't need a few more pounds on my body.

"I'm not hungry."

"You didn't even–"

"I'm not hungry, Cameron." I finally turn around, and he's staring at me like I just slammed a door in his face.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Okay."

"Can you at least look at me for a second?"

For the record, I was looking at him, he just didn't like what he saw.

"What?" I ask.

His jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice even. "Why do you do that?"

"What am I doing?"

"This." He gestures between us. " It's like I'm not even here."

I blink at him mockingly. "You're here."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

I turn off the faucet and shake my hands before grabbing the white towel.

"I just got off a twelve-hour shift," he continues, quieter now. "I come home, and it's like I'm walking into a stranger's house."

"Then don't come home." I snap.

"You don't mean that."

I look back down at my nails. "I mean, if it bothers you that much–"

"Stop." His voice cuts through mine firmly. "Just–stop for a second."

"When did this start?" he starts again. "Huh? When did you decide you didn't want me around anymore?"

"I never said that."

"You don't have to say it," he says a little sharper now. "You show it through your actions every day."

I let out a breath, tired. "You're clearly being dramatic."

"Am I?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Because from where I'm standing, my wife won't even let me touch her."

I go quiet. There was nothing left for me to say, really. This is how it was everyday– so what was the point in fighting back?

Cameron sighs, closing his eyes for a brief second before kissing my cheek, though there's no warmth in it.

"I'm sorry, Dix," he sighs. "I'm going to go shower."

He leaves as quickly as he came. The door to the bathroom clicks shut, and a few minutes later the sound of running water fills the space between us– drowning out the thoughts I don't want to think about.

I sit there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, then I let out a slow breath, dragging my hands down my face.

To my left, the sushi takeaway bag rests on the kitchen counter.

I open the bag to see my absolute favorite combo of all time– sushi with a bottle of soy sauce.

I used to drown my sushi rolls in soy sauce because 'without it, it tasted like fish and rice.'

It was tasty before I found out how many calories were in it.

I grabbed the bag and tossed it in the fridge, not wanting to waste it. I'm sure Cam would eat it if I didn't want it.

I go to our bedroom, where my notes for tomorrow lay on my bed.

I pass by the mirror, then walk towards it again, staring at my reflection.

Nothing looked too different, I hoped. My curly hair had reached past my shoulders, my skin was more glowy, and I had put on a little more weight on my legs and butt.

I told myself I wasn't insecure, but every time I look at myself, I see a different version.

I just miss me before everything happened.

The shower finally cuts off, and silence comes back again. Steam comes out first, like it's been trapped for years. Then walks Cameron.

He walks out with boxers and no shirt. His hair is damp, there's a shirt slung over his shoulder, and water was still tracing down the side of his abs and legs. He doesn't see me right away.

I watch him through the mirror. He looks refreshed–he was one of those guys that said, 'showering is my therapy.' and it basically was. He finally glances up and catches me staring. I snap my gaze away immediately, but unfortunately not fast enough.

"Oh," he says, his voice softer. "I didn't know you were in here."

"I live here too." I reply, though it comes out ruder than I meant.

He blinks, nodding slowly like he expected it. "Right."

He walks past me, towards the closet, pulling on a clean shirt and pajama pants. Something about his demeanor makes me feel guilty. I wanted to apologize, but what does that ever do? Have I ever even said 'sorry' before?

"Cam—" I face him.

He pauses but doesn't turn around.

"Yeah?" he asks.

I swallow hard. What was I even planning to say? Anything from my mouth would probably sound fake, and he definitely wasn't going to take me seriously. So I close my hanging mouth, and rub the bridge of my nose, sighing.

"Nothing."

He turns to me, staring with a neutral expression. "Okay."

I watch as he finishes changing before walking over to his side of the bed. There was a time when that didn't matter. When we didn't have "sides." We just slept wherever we landed, tangled up, laughing if one of us ended up half falling off.

But of course, things can't go back to that now.

"Dix."

I glance at him through the mirror. "Hm?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

I press my lips together, eyes flicking over my reflection again, like it can pop up and give me an answer. I blink twice to break myself out of my trance.

"It's late," he shifts. "You've got work in the morning, baby."

"I'm coming." I speak. My voice feels distant and cold, even to me.

I walk over to the bed, pulling the covers over me quickly. Cameron claps, and the lights turn off. The room goes quiet again, except for the sound of us breathing. I stare at the wall in front of me, though there's nothing special there.

"Goodnight, Dix." he says, breaking the painful quiet.

I shut my eyes, hoping to sleep fast just so I have an excuse to not respond. He notices, and sighs before shifting in bed again.

I hate my husband.

I say it in my brain. That's what I want to believe, because there's no other explainable reason why I'm acting like this.

But a part of me knows I really don't hate him.