Come Up to Meet You

The dark lighting accentuates the circles under my eyes. How I can tell? The barmaid has a look of pity in her own every time she refills my glass. After the third I can no longer ignore it, and chose to look away every time her patronizing eyes come near me.

It takes a third of scotch before I can begin recall the last hour of my day.

"Hey I'm home! How was your day?" Quinn asks. She is met by silence and an empty living room. Kicking off her pumps and dropping her bag, she goes in search for her wife.

"Rachel…" she calls into the kitchen. A broken glass and an open refrigerator intercept her. Frustrated with the mess Quinn attempts to pick up the larger of the jagged pieces, tiptoeing her way around the smaller ones in search for the garbage can.

"Rachel, why didn't you clean this up!" she calls out from the kitchen, once more met with unresponsiveness.

Put off by the unbearable silence, the blonde begins to hum her way around the kitchen, grabbing the broom out of the pantry closet, and the dustpan off the wall.

"Don't you worry, Hon. I'm taking care of it." She calls out, mostly to humor herself.

Heading up the stairs to their master bedroom she's overcomes with dread. Somehow, she knows what she'll be walking into. Years of signs have led her up to this moment in time. However, this does nothing to prepare her for the sight of her wife, sitting on their bed, packed bags at her feet and tears running down her face.

"Fuck…"

There's next to no liquid in my glass and moisture forming at the crease in my eyes. I'm a mess from head to toe, in my wrinkled work attire. Attempting to smooth out a crease in my white blouse, I see the barmaid out of the corner of my eye pour me another fifth of scotch.

"Quinn, I'm here to talk if you need it. I mean… I don't know what's going on exactly… but if you need anything, I'm your girl."

I snort to myself and grace the woman with a slightly drunken smile.

"No you're not."

"Quinn, it's just a figure of speech-"

"No!"

Who does this bitch think she is?

"Who do you think you are?"

"I'm just saying, whatever you need…"

I watch the woman walk away, sneering just a bit longer for effect.

"Stupid bitch… thinks she's something… yeah… something…"

"No. You're not leaving me. You can't be…" Quinn falls to her knees, too weak to continue standing.

"No… no… no. No!"

Rachel just shakes her head from side to side, a steady stream of tears running down her face.

"NO! I can't… no, Rachel. You can't just… please! Please just… stay! Please just… just… oh, God. No. I can't, I won't. I just won't let you." Quinn crawls her way over to Rachel's legs and buries her face into her wife lap, clutching onto her legs with every last bit of strength she has left.

"I have to, Quinn. I'm-"

"NO!" Quinn shrieks. She paws at Rachel's face, whipping the tears away from her wife's' cheeks roughly.

"You're making a mistake, Baby! You have to believe me… you can't just leave me! To death do us part! That's what you said!"

"I'm leaving tonight. You can't change my mind." Rachel looks away from her wife, unable to face the fear and confusion resting in the once loving and playful gaze of the woman she married.

"Baby! Don't… don't throw us away! No one ever said this would be easy! But you can't just… You just can't…" Quinn, gasping for breath reaches up, begging to see the love she once saw radiate from her spouse's eyes.

I dip my finger into my scotch glass and swirl around the smooth liquor, lost in the memory of those pain filled eyes.

How could things get so… lost? I take my finger in my mouth, suck the substance off of the digit, and ponder my question. I love her so much… what did I miss?

I down the last bit left in my glass and pull out a few twenties to pay my tab. Fuck this place, fuck that barmaid.

Once I manage to get my coat back on and my shirt reasonably tucked in I stumble to the exit of Iggy's Bar and brace myself for fall in New York City. Its late enough that the foot traffic has slowed down, allowing me to stumble my way back to our apartment in the upper east-side.

Our apartment. Right, I guess it's just my apartment now, even though her name is still on the lease. Guess I'll call the lawyer tomorrow…

I wrap my coat closer to my body, attempting to block off the wind sending shivers down my spine. Everything is pretty fuzzy, but I can make out the sign for 76th street and am soon climbing the stairs to the second floor.

As soon as the door swings shut behind me I feel my walls come tumbling down again. I fight to wipe the tears streaming down my face and neck but more just seem to replace them and eventually just let them go. It feels as though the floor is shaking with every step I take. A drunken sob makes its way up my throat but I swallow it back down as best I can. To me, it sounds like a dog being shot.

I paw at the loose tie around my neck, briefly recognizing it as the one LeRoy gave to me after I received my first promotion at work.

As I make my way up the stairs, I briefly stop and pull off articles of clothing, being careful to bump into as little as possible.

I've made my way up the stairs and into the hallway by the time I'm pulling off my slacks. I can see the remains of the vase I shattered as she walked out on me.

"Quinn, I simply can't handle this anymore. I AM leaving, you're NOT going to stop me, and PLEASE get out of my way." Rachel attempts to pry her wife's hands off her waist as she gathers up her bags. She's almost through the hallway when she hears Quinn grab something off the coffee table and throw in at the wall next to her. The vase shatters in slow motion, it seems, pieces of porcelain falling to the ground at Rachel's feet.

The look on Quinn's face goes from agony to shock.

"Baby… no, baby I didn't mean to…"

Rachel backs away from the blonde with fear etched in her face. Quickly grabbing her bags once more she takes off down the stairs and to the front door of their home of seven years.

"I'm not letting you leave! You can't leave me!" Quinn yells after her. The blonde throws herself at the opening door and slams it shut, pinning Rachel underneath her.

"YOU CAN'T FUCKING LEAVE!" She screams. Spit flecks cover Rachel's closed eyes and a look of terror overcomes her features. The brunette brings her arms between them and pushes Quinn away, to no avail.

"You married me, Bitch! You've got to deal with it!"

"No, Quinn! I don't, and I can't, and I won't! I'm fucking done with you! Now, let me go!" Rachel screams, slapping at the blondes face for what seems like the millionth time.

Stunned by the blow, Quinn stumbles back to clear her head, bracing herself on the table by the entrance wall.

"Go."

I stumble down the hallway, carefully avoiding the broken vase and slam the bedroom door closed once I'm inside. I strip myself of my underwear and attempt to wipe the snot hanging from my nose off on my shoulder. The bathroom light is on, and in my drunken void, I feel it's a sign. Is there someone in there, waiting for me? Could it be my beautiful wife? Is she home yet? Maybe she is taking a long hot shower and is waiting for me to join her…

I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, and blame the monster I see on the alcohol. Turning on the shower to a scalding hot temperature, I begin to hum our song, hoping it will lure Rachel into the shower with me, as it has countless times before.

By the time the water has burned my face red, the small shower is steamed up really thick. I can barely see my hand in front of me, but can hear my wife singing our song softly from the bedroom. I can catch a few versus here and there, and add a soft harmony to her perfect pitch.

"Chasing our tails… coming back as we a-are."

I fumble with the bar of organic lavender soap in my hands as she continues on.

"Come in the shower, Baby. It's so… um… steamy in here…" I yell out to her.

I finally get the soap to stabilize in my hands and begin to stud my body up, washing away the snot, and tears, and stress of the day. I wrap my arms around my body, and roll my head to the side, letting the water wash away my troubles before I turn off the water. It takes me a minute, but eventually I get both the hot and the cold water shut off. The singing seems to have stopped, but I assume that Rachel has dosed off waiting for me.

Once I'm dry I make my way out to the bedroom, narrowly missing the doorway.

"Baby… I think I'm drunk…" I mumble, crawling my way to the top of our bed.

"Can you hold me tonight?"

"Baby?"

"Rachel…"

She's not there. She's… I don't know where she went… and I don't know what to do.

So I sleep. She'll be back home tomorrow. My baby would never leave me…