ᶜᵒˡᵒᵍⁿᵉ ⁱˢ ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ... ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 1:43 ━━❍─────── 08:01
(Chapter 1: Who’s sorry? - Ami’s POV) He went out again. That was what? The 5th time? And not the 5th time this month. Not even this week. The 5th time today. I don’t know why I bother. Do I still love him? Am I simply not ready to accept it - let alone move on? Why must I ask these questions so fast though? First, I must know. Where is he? Where has he been every single time he went out? And most of all, does Raine still love me? At this moment, though, I just want to know where the Tylenol is. It’s honestly the same thing nowadays. Same old as I had never dreamed of. I wake up, Raine’s not there. I eat breakfast, and by the works of a miracle, he appears. Right after, though, he’s gone for work. After work, he comes back for a while. And then…. You guessed it - he heads out. And so I don’t see Raine ‘til morningtime. I’ve even tried making his favorite dishes, offering to drive him places, attempting to match his humor to at the least get a smile out of him - nothing. I give it my all, and he gives back nothing. Am I desperate? Maybe. Desperate for the love I read in those fantasy stories. Desperate for the moments my parents shared together. Desperate for the attention I had shied away from throughout all my years as an introverted teen, leading into my adulthood. I’m worth more than that, right? {}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{}o{} I glanced at the ticking digital clock on my nightstand. It was 8pm, and Raine usually got back at 7. At that moment, something inside of me must’ve snapped. I suddenly got up, threw on the best clothes I had (fortunately they were all clean because there’s not much else to do except housework when your husband is out all damn day every single day). Practically stomping, I headed to the door, snatched my purse with everything I needed to go out, and left the house. Oh, the sweet smell of freedom that comes with an absent partner. It almost made this whole situation lighter. Almost. I hopped into my car and drove to the local bar which I happened to become a regular at. That means I don’t have to repeat my order to the bartender, Imilio! I’m not so sure I’d have the energy to speak normally right now, anyway. The bell jingled as I walked in - my favorite sound, though it used to be the house’s door creaking open, symbolizing Raine’s arrival from work. “The regular?” Imilio asked. I simply nodded. Despite being just the every-day bartender at this club, Imilio had ought to be the chillest, most amazing human ever. He’s seen me through everything, has comforted me through every “therapy session” we had, consisting of me drunk, crying whilst yapping about my problems with my husband and him nodding and hugging me ‘til I’m done. He doesn’t waste his time saying anything, though - he knows I won’t remember it the next morning. All of these memories are purely based on small fragments of the previous night that rush over me every hungover morning. But, God, Imilio is my savior at the moment. I sat down, breathing in the ever-so-familiar scent of all the different kinds of drinks colliding. And never exclude the hint of vomit from those who couldn’t make it home, or even to the closest bathroom. Imilio worked on my drink, flowing as though it was second nature. At this point, it probably was. ‘Least some things never change.
