Her throat was sore from screaming and her eyes were stinging from unshed tears.
He'd stormed out of the room, fists clenched, halfway through the fight, and she was left gasping furiously on her own. The regret and remorse set in immediately, the anger seeping away like sand through her fingers. She'd shredded his ego and emotions mercilessly in her fury, all because she'd been in a bad mood, and now he'd be off with her for days. She felt so awful she wasn't sure she could face him tonight. Perhaps she'd sleep on the sofa.
He'd been away for nearly a month on a 'business trip' with the BBA and, good heavens and stars and sun and clouds and all else that was in the sky, she'd missed him. She'd missed his touch and his arms and his arguing and the irritating way he always pointed out what she was doing wrong, but most of all she missed him just being there.
He'd hardly stepped through the door when she launched herself at him. He'd staggered in surprise, but he'd missed her too, so he attacked back with fervour. They made up for lost time the best way they knew how; needless to say, the suitcases were not unpacked that night.
The next morning, however, it was as if he'd never been away. After waking up in a dizzy delirium, the day spiralled downwards into reality and arguments. He was exhausted from the jet-lag, she was stressed with a mountain of paperwork to sort, so neither were in the mood for cordial conversations.
It had been an innocent passing comment during the remnants of dinner that had set it off. She couldn't even remember what it was, but it had irked her and she'd snapped back with venom. He began to explain himself, too tired to continue accusing, but she'd cut in with her own furious thoughts that had been simmering during the day.
Useless, she'd called him. Lazy, irritating, unhelpful and dense made their way into her sentences too. Before she knew it, he was gaping at her, hurt and shock flashing in his eyes. She'd pried and picked at every crack in his ego, every weakness had been exploited until he was left a gasping wreck, ripped to pieces in his chair. He hadn't said anything to that; he stood, swallowed heavily, then left the room. The slam of their bedroom door echoed behind him.
She liked to think that she was a defensive person – she only attacked with good reason, when someone was attacking her. Usually, the arguments were his fault just as much as hers. But that…
Well, it was uncalled for. She'd been a downright bitch for no reason. She'd needed to let out her frustration and stress on something and she'd chosen him. He was her emotional punching-bag. Her face dropped with shame and she ran a hand through her hair…could he forgive her? Could he understand?
Her head snapped up as she heard the opening of doors. He walked into the kitchen and made his way to the hallway. She noticed that he'd put on his jacket, and she was reminded of how easily and hastily he'd discarded it the night before. She followed him.
"Tyson?" she said softly, his name catching in her throat. He did not respond, concentrating on slipping on his shoes.
She let out an audible gasp as his hand alighted on the door handle, although she'd been half expecting it. "Are…are you leaving?" she croaked.
Not trusting himself to speak, he offered her a small, curt nod. Still he did not look at her. He couldn't.
"Are you coming back?" she breathed.
Finally, he turned to her, and his expression made her want to burst into tears. She nearly did. It was hurt and sadness and confusion all in one; the answer was clear – he didn't know if he would be coming back.
Her hands went to her mouth, her eyes closed, and he watched her as she grimaced and choked and tried desperately not to cry. They'd been married nearly a year and they still fought every day, although he'd never threatened to leave her before. The very idea of losing him was agonising.
"Please," she gasped, the words barely escaping her lips, "Don't leave me."
He swallowed heavily; just seeing her upset was cutting him up inside. But he had something to say.
"Hilary, why am I here?" he asked quietly. She looked up at him in confusion, frowning.
His fists clenched as renewed anger swept through him, "Why am I here," he repeated, louder, "When you obviously don't need me?"
"Tyson…" she began, but he cut her off.
"You said it yourself, Hil, you don't need me. Should I just leave now, then? Would it make any difference to you? Would you care?"
"Tyson, how could you ever-" She stepped forwards, reaching for him, but he pulled away.
"Is this all I am to you – someone to use for your needs? If you wanted something to shout at, you could have bought a bloody potted plant, you didn't need to marry me. Or, hell, you could have married Kai – at least he doesn't shout back!"
He paused to study her reaction; her teeth were jammed into her lip, one arm across her chest, one round her stomach, hand fisted by her heart, as if for protection, and she was looking up at him through her bangs. A single tear escaped and she gasped, pressing her lips together and ducking her head. Still, she said nothing, dully absorbing his cutting words.
He felt his anger slowly dissolving into a dull, guilty ache in his stomach. But it wasn't gone yet. He grit his teeth and ran a hand through his hair; her crying always got to him, even when he was fourteen and obnoxious.
"Hil, did…did last night mean anything to you at all?" he asked quietly. Her head shot up, some of the old fire returning to her eyes. She nodded, regaining some of her composure.
He balled his fists, "Then why? Why the hell did you shout at me? It-it was like you didn't even care that we'd been apart all this time!"
"I did care! I do care! When you weren't there, I missed you, and as bloody cliché as it sounds, I was empty, a part of me was missing-"
"You mean you missed having someone to shout at, you missed having someone-"
"Tyson!" she screamed, tears threatening again in her exasperation, "Will you just listen!"
He paused, scowled, and folded his arms, "I'm listening."
There was a silence for a few seconds as she swallowed heavily.
"Every day, waking up finding you not beside me…getting back from work and not having you there…just being here without you…" she gulped, "If you won't believe it from me, ask Mariah, ask the poor kids in my class – heck, ask Daichi; I threw a plate at his head when he tried to convince me you'd called and said you were gonna be away 'til Christmas!"
An involuntary smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, "Did it hit him?"
"I had to take him to A and E."
"I'm sorry I missed that." Then his expression clouded over once more, "You say you missed me, but that's not what you said five minutes ago. You…you said you didn't need me…"
"I didn't mean it, not any of it!" she cried, trying to grab his arms to make him believe her but he yanked them back.
"How do I know that it's not the other way round – that what you said earlier isn't what you really think? How do I know? What you said really hurt, Hilary. If you missed me so much what the hell made you decide to cut me to pieces?"
"I…I…" her face dropped in shame as she realised her poor excuse, "I had a bad day."
"A-a bad day?!" he spluttered. She'd just added fuel to the proverbial fire, "What the hell! You expect me to forgive and forget because you needed something to take your bad mood out on? How do I know that you won't just do the same thing next time you're stressed out? That's not fair, Hil, you know, I have feelings too! Or had you forgotten in my absence? You seemed to remember me pretty well last night! If all I am to you is some kind of emotional punching bag then this is not where I want to be."
His hand caught the door handle again and he turned away from her, quaking in fury. She too was trembling, but with a different emotion. Déjà vu, he thought bitterly as he kicked his shoes on.
Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks and, suddenly, there were only four words she could think of to say.
"Please…don't leave me." She gasped.
He exhaled heavily and shook his head at her over his shoulder; dammit, he was jetlagged and exhausted and wanted nothing more than a bowl of ramen and a good nap, but his heart was aching painfully and his pride wouldn't let him back down.
"I'm sorry."
Finally, the words he'd been waiting for. He froze, hand on doorhandle.
"You know I don't mean these stupid things I say, you know I don't. I don't know why I said them, they're not true, there's just something about you that makes me act nasty, but I don't mean it, I don't, I promise…!" the words tumbled from her mouth in an anguished jumble, hardly making sense and making so much sense at the same time so that his head began to hurt just trying to come to terms with it.
He raised his glance to meet her tear-filled eyes. "You didn't mean it? Everything you said?"
"Everything! That's what I've been saying, I didn't mean a word of it, Tyson, I love you!"
He studied her face for a moment, before wave of fatigue hit him and he slumped back against the door, too tired to argue anymore. He'd made his point, she'd apologised, his pride be dammed, he just wanted to sleep now. He held out an arm to her. "C'mere."
She crumpled against him, shaking with relief and burying herself in his embrace. His knees buckled with her weight and the two of them dropped to the floor, sprawling and clutching each other close, emotionally and physically drained.
"Please," she said, catching the collar of his jacket in her hands, "Don't leave me."
He offered her a weak smile and watched her through half-closed lids as she wound her fingers tight into the material. A weight that he'd never been aware of lifted from his shoulders as he watched her lips curl up at the corners. Having her in his arms felt right.
"I think I could manage to stick around for a while."