A/N: Hey! It's EvanescentBeauty, here to let you know a little bit about this story, and it's future.

I am a very unpredictable person, but have become even more unpredictable, especially now that I'm in high school. I never know how much homwork I'll be getting, and as many of my readers will have realized (especially those of "Spilled Cranberry Juice") I have been very slow in updates. I play on finishing "Colors" first, just because I have most of the ending written already.

I hope to make this story a good one, but I plan on making the chapters rather short, just because that's how it'll work out. I hope that's not too much of a problem.

It was raining.

Again.

It never...stops... raining...

The car door slammed shut as Knox grumpily departed from his car, breifcase in hand, to his front door. Another day of humidity and rain... of clammy faces and sweaty brows. Of monotonous banking procedures and...

...He opened the front door...

...and no wife waiting for him with a hot meal.

Now, he realized that he wanted his wife to have her free time, but after a long day from 6 in the morning to 6 at night, he expected a little bit of a "welcome home" gesture, as she was the one staying home all day. A hot meal, a comfy chair--No, no, God forbid should anything of that sort be of normalcy in this home. All of his co-workers -- not that he socialized with them -- had made it clearly known how dutifully their wives doted upon them... how they couldn't wait to get home to a meal of meat and potatoes and a cigarette and a blaring television. No, he came home to an empty, dusty, dirty house... how many vodka bottles had Chris knocked back before realizing that she had wiped their stores clean? How many packs until she realized she could get some for free at the local bar, or from another man? How long till she realized that she didn't have to wait till 6 o' clock that night to get her "satisfaction", if you will?

He walked into the kitchen and opened up the pantry. Grumpily, he grabbed a can of soup and tossed it into a pan, watching the luke-warm liquid begin to boil under the intense heat of the burners.

Her timing was impeccable.

Chris burst through the door. She held multiple bags of food.

"Chris?" called Knox, walking out into the living room.

"Hello, Knoxy," she cood. "Could you give me a help with all of this?"

Knox grabbed half of the bags she was holding and carried them into the kitchen with her.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I wanted to cook you something real nice for dinner, so I went out to stock up again... but I just wasn't quick enough, I suppose."

Knox, however, highly doubted that Chris had been out buying food. More than couple of the bags were filled with beer bottles.

"Chris...?" asked Knox. Chris grabbed the bottles fiercely, her eyes crackling.

"What?" she snapped. "Isn't a girl allowed to have some alcohol every once in a while? God, Knox... with you hanging over my shoulder every minute of every day, it's gets exhausting to have a life!"

"I didn't--" he began, distraught.

"Why don't you just let me have my fun?" cried Chris. "For God's sake, Knox..."

"I'm sorry!" he snapped finally. "Good lord, I didn't even say anything!"

"Well, you were going to," she growled moodily.

"Look," said Knox, rubbing his forehead as Chris packed the rest of the bags away. "Where have you been going these past few days? You're never here when I get home..."

"Oh... out," she replied simply. "I really don't see how my personal life has anything to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" cried Knox.

"Yes, because it's all about you."

"I didn't say that, and you know that's not what I meant. We're husband and wife, we should be sharing things with each other!"

"Sometimes I just don't feel like it. You never tell me about your day."

"I'm... a banker! I didn't think that would interest you..." he replied meekly.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," she snapped. "Now, if you will please leave me alone, you can enjoy your soup in peace!"

She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving a distressed Knox all alone.

He kicked the side of the oven angrily. He ignored the pain in his toe and instead hurried to the drawers where he pulled out a sharp knife. Angrily, he placed the cold blade to his forearm and made a shallow, firm cut. He felt the usual rush of pleasure as the endorphines spread all over his body... it was the most wonderful feeling. No longer could it be satisfied by Chris. He'd been cutting himself for a while, but it wasn't like it mattered. Nothing mattered. His entire life had been about Chris Noel. Now, she was Chris Overstreet, but life was worse than it had ever been.

Slightly silenced, Knox ran water over the blade, placed it into the dishwasher, and went quietly to bed.

The soup lay untouched.