Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This is nothing more than a drabble, really just me trying to purge the dark from my thoughts. I have left the couple rather ambiguous, but marked it as Jasper/Bella, because that's who was in my mind when I wrote it.
The sun streamed in through the window and she stared forlornly at the empty side of the bed where her husband would usually be.
He was ignoring her again.
It's become routine at this point.
During breakfast, he'll silently eat his usual meal of bacon and eggs, a newspaper obscuring his face and acting as a barrier between him and her.
Afterwards, he'll be straightening his corn powder blue tie, that she bought him for his birthday last year, and running a finger absently through his wavy blond hair as he gather his papers and meticulously stuffs them in his briefcase.
As usual, she'll be standing faithfully beside the door, ready to peck his cheek if he offers it.
He never does anymore.
Later that night, dinner will be eaten in front of the television, the only chatter in the room being whatever inane program he decides to watch that day. Usually the sports channel.
She asks him how his day went.
He ignores her and takes a large gulp of the amber colored liquor in his hand. The ice clinks noisily against the glass.
She frowns. He's been drinking more lately and she really doesn't like it. She's tried to bring it up before, but all he does is stare at her taking a defiant drink of whatever alcohol of choice happens to be in his hand that day.
At night, he practically huddles on his side of the bed, hogging the blankets and leaving her cold and bereft.
He used to love cuddling with her.
Over time, she's learned how to cry without making a sound.
-oo-
Sunset. Sunrise.
Repeat cycle.
-oo-
Until one night, it's different.
She's finally had enough.
-oo-
He's fixing his collar when she enters the bedroom and she catches the rich scent of his cologne in the air. It was an anniversary present.
She always loved that smell.
She demands to know what he's doing.
"I'm going out and I'm finally going to have a good time," he mutters angrily into the mirror, smoothing out the creases of his blood red dress shirt.
Stunned by his answer she doesn't try to stop him.
Instead she hangs her head and wonders where it all went wrong.
-oo-
He stumbles through the door hours later, and even from the kitchen, where she has been waiting dutifully since he left, she can smell the sour scent of strong alcohol that has replaced his cologne.
She is furious that he would even risk driving in that condition.
She gets up from the table and storms from the kitchen.
Despite his obvious intoxication, he has managed to make his way to the living room and is balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table in front of their overpriced television, head down.
He doesn't look up when she enters.
As she steps closer, she realizes he has something in his hand. A picture frame. One she's very familiar with.
It holds her favorite photo of them.
It was the day they had gotten married. It had been snapped mid-kiss.
"I cheated on you," he whispered and her heart clenched. "I-I kissed another woman tonight." His fingers traced the glass. "We were so happy then. What happened to us?" A single tear trails down his cheek.
"I-" She began.
He stood abruptly and glared furiously at her before throwing the picture frame directly at her.
She slammed her eyes closed, waiting for the impact.
There was a shattering sound as it hit the wall behind her.
His inebriation must of thrown his aim off.
"Why didn't you tell me you were so unhappy?!" He screamed. "I would have done anything for you. I could have helped you. I could have-" His words choked off.
She moved to embrace him, starting slightly when she found herself suddenly facing the television stand instead. A harsh sob behind her had her whirling around to stare bewildered at his back as he kneeled to pick up the shattered pieces of the frame.
A sharp pain in her wrists has her looking down to stare at the long, ugly red scars that suddenly appear. As she stares at them, they split open and immediately well up with blood. She hears a dull plink plink sound as it hits the floor, like a tap that hasn't been properly shut off, and it stirs a memory she refuses to face.
"I could have stopped you," he whispers to the empty room.
She screams.
-oo-
Sunset. Sunrise.
-oo-
The sun streamed in through the window and she stared forlornly at the empty side of the bed where her husband would usually be.
He was ignoring her again.
A/N2: They say suicide is a sin, and others say you make your own hell. Well, this is hers.