Poison

Bored.

I was so damn bored.

But it was more than that.

I scanned the club, our usual venue after the usual restaurant, the cycle swirling all over again, like it had done for years. My eyes glossed over the man who was supposed to be the love of my life as he stood in his usual pose, one elbow on the bar top, laughing along with his pompous work friends like their lives were the epitome of worldly success.

I should have been happy. Everyone had been trying to convince me I should be. Everyone telling me we were great, we were great, we were great. That Sebastian Maitland was the best future husband anyone could wish for. Attentive. Smart. Successful. Invested in our future.

My heart was a static flatline, even though I told myself it wasn’t. I’d forgotten who I was – fading back into myself so hard after losing Lucas that I didn’t recognise my own soul anymore.

I was trapped in my own glass box, with a fake smile and fake hopes and dreams.

But tonight I couldn’t accept it. Tonight I couldn’t accept that I was numb and lost and fading into the background.

I got up from my seat and made my way to the bar. I ignored Sebastian and his friends and ordered myself a prosecco and returned to the table to drink it.

The other women looked at me with horror on their faces, knowing I was breaking the rules of life by drinking alcohol on my meds, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to care anymore.

It was when Sebastian shot me a glance from his crowd, and he was glaring with that same horror and disgust as the rest of the party, that I knew I had to break away from it, even for just a few short minutes.

I finished my drink and made my excuses and headed out the back to slip amongst the rest of the smokers, and I sucked in that nicotine and tried to convince myself all over again that this was my life now, and it was good. It was great. It was everything.

Then, when I was done with my cigarette, I made my way back inside.

Sebastian was already waiting for me with my coat over his arm from the back of my chair. He would barely look at me as he told me we were leaving, and there was a taxi waiting for us outside.

We sat in silence on the way back to his, and my heart was in my throat, knowing full well that this was the final step in returning to our life together, and it was off to a terrible footing to match the terrible nerves.

I’d been stalling for days, telling him that we needed to find our feet together, and I was nervous and scared and wanted to take it slow – but this was it. The doorway to his was the final threshold, and we were about to cross it on terrible terms.

My fingers were twisting together in my lap, and I was desperate for him to speak to me, to say anything to make this feel better, because I wanted it to.

Please, God, I wanted it to.

We arrived outside his in a few short minutes. He paid the driver and headed up the front path, and I followed him.

He opened the front door, turned off the intruder alarm and hung his jacket up. He tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and I watched him. I watched him ignoring me with that same scowl on his face he’d had since I ordered the prosecco at the bar.

“Did you take your meds?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I took them before the club.”

“No seizures?”

“None,” I said.

“Well, that’s a fucking blessing, isn’t it? Considering you asked for one with your fucking drinking.”

He poured me a glass of water, and slammed it on the counter. I sipped it as quickly as I could.

“Bed time,” he said. “At least you can get something fucking right with your ill fucking brain.”

I hadn’t even taken my coat off, but he didn’t notice, just stormed on by me and headed upstairs. My hands were shaking as I took off my heels and got ready to follow him. My legs felt bandy as I climbed the stairs, my heart still thumping as he finished brushing his teeth with the bathroom door open.

He jammed his toothbrush back in the holder and stomped across the landing to the bedroom, and I brushed my teeth with my hands still shaking, praying I could be the person I needed to be to make this work all over again.

He was still undressing when I joined him in the bedroom. He tossed his cufflinks down onto the dressing table and tugged his tie loose.

I watched him cast it on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you like me to be careful, and I know I shouldn’t be drinking, but I like a prosecco now, just one every now and again. Just to loosen up a bit.”