He had been alone most of his life.
He had grown use to silence.
Grown use to long, cold nights.
Grown use to eating alone, going out alone, living separated from everyone else around him.
So why was he so restless tonight?
She had told him that she was going to go out. Told him that she was going out for a girls' night. Told him to not wait up for her since she wouldn't be home until late. The term "don't wait up" he found somewhat humorous because it wasn't like he slept anyways.
He was unaware of how much he had changed until she removed herself from their house.
He found where he would have been sitting calmly reading a book or staring up at the stars for hours, he was now pacing like a caged animal. The walls around him pressed in on him without her there.
He found that he was purposely avoiding the bedroom, didn't want to go in the kitchen since food was the last thing he wanted, couldn't concentrate on a book long enough to enjoy it, and the sky was overcast so the stars were even hiding from him.
He cursed the day that a group of girls got together and decided that going out without their significant others was a great idea.
When he had questioned her on what a "girls night" is and what exactly they were going to do, she had just shrugged, smiled, and said, "Girl things."
He had a little trouble in processing how "girl things" could keep her out of the house for five, going on six, hours now.
He took a shower, he alphabetized his bookshelf, he even cleaned the house...still no sign of her.
It took every ounce of self control that he had to not walk out the door, find her, and drag her back.
In their house, she was safe.
By his side, she was safe.
Away from him, alone at night, anything could happen.
And while he didn't question her abilities to defend herself, it was his duty to be sure that she didn't have to utilize her survival skills.
It was his job to scare away the unwanted attention from other guys, his job to tell her she looked nice, his job to buy her drinks.
The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the hands on the clock stopped moving.
He was sitting on their couch doing a very good job of not watching the show that was on the screen when she finally came home.
Her hair was a mess and wreaked of booze.
Stumbling over to the couch, she collapsed on top of him with a sigh and a smile.
"Hey you!" she exclaimed happily while she straddled him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Relief that she was home washed over him in a wonderful wave, but he still tried to muster up the best glare he could.
"Have fun?" he asked gruffly, trying to loosen her arms around his neck since they were starting to block his airway.
"Mmhmm." she responded as she started kissing his neck and gently started to rub his shoulders.
"What'd you do?" he asked as he shifted underneath since her knees were digging into his hip bones.
"Oh we went dancing and went to the bar and well, you know, had fun!"
When he went to tell her that, no, he didn't know, he was interrupted by her saying, "Aren't you hot with that shirt on?" and pealed it over his head.
The rest of his questions never fully came out of his mouth since she was constantly kissing him.
After doing her best to throughly turn him on despite his agitation, she quickly got off of him and collapsed next to him on the couch.
Left in a daze due to the unwelcome change up, he could only just look at the woman next to him on the couch.
"What're you watching?" she asked, directing her attention to the television.
"I dunno." he answered honestly as he switched his stare at the ceiling above him.
"I'm exhausted!" she said as she took off her high heels and threw them across the room. He actually had to use his sand to defend the television's life from one of her heels.
She wobbly stood up and exclaimed, "I'm going to bed!"
Following closely behind her, occasionally directing her to the room since she would wobble off course every step or two.
Finally getting her to the bed, he had to help her get undressed since she started peeling her clothes off and stopped halfway since she got stuck and gave she was under the covers and well on her way to sleeping, he stood on the side of it debating on whether he should even get in or not.
Deciding that he should, that way he could be sure she didn't wander off and hurt herself in the middle of the night, he gently got under the covers only to be smothered by her immediately.
After a few minutes of struggling to situate himself in a comfortable position, she finally stopped moving enough for them to compromise a position that he was okay with for the duration of the night.
Taking deep breathes so he wouldn't snap, she managed to snake her way closer to him again.
"Will you get me some water?" she mumbled.
Knowing as soon as he got up out of the bed he would have to have another wrestling match with her in order to get comfortable again, he was reluctant to get up. But, judging from the potency of her breath, he knew that water was the best thing for her right now.
Trudging his way to the kitchen, he quickly filled up a glass and returned to the bedroom.
She was gone. She wasn't in the bed, she wasn't on the floor...but the bathroom door was now closed.
Knocking before he entered, he heard a deep groan.
Upon entering, he found her kneeling next to the toilet trying not to throw up.
"I don't feel good..." she rasped.
Sighing as he put the glass of water on the sink, he sat on the tub next to her, pulled her hair back and said, "Just let it out."
He watched as she pretty much emptied out all of the contents in her stomach...twice.
When she said she was done, he carried her back to the bed and placed her in it.
When he got in as well, he reluctantly scooted close to her and started rubbing the sweat soaked hair off of her face.
Deciding that he would question her in the morning as to how a night of puking was any kind of fun and ban her from ever doing a 'girls' night out' again since he wasn't happy about taking care of a very drunk and very sick woman...
Waking her up every once in a while to choke down some water, he started thinking that maybe she should have just stayed with her friends all night. It just didn't seem fair that she went out without him, had fun, returned home and he now had to deal with her self-inflicted illness.
Just when he thought his agitation was going to bubble over, he heard her whisper, "I missed you tonight."
Four words.
That's all she said before she passed out again, but those four words were enough to calm him down. Enough to bring a slight smile to his face, and enough to allow her to cuddle closer to him despite the strong smell of vomit.
Maybe this "girls' night out" idea wasn't as bad as he thought it was...