Disclaimer: I own nothing
It's slightly longer than a drabble but you can deal ;)
The prompt is loosely the lyrics to Rihanna's Complicated.
(Un-edited & un-beta'd)
I don't want to leave; it's the absolute last thing I want. But I can't keep running in the same circles, playing into the same hand, time and time again. I'm a glutton for punishment yet even I know I've been playing this masochistic game for long enough.
I'm sat on our bed, packed suitcase lying next to me and I don't think I could tell you how many times I've been here. In a way it's become part of our routine and I honestly couldn't tell you what I'd think if we made it a month without having had this same argument, without ending things; without me leaving the woman I love to stand alone in our kitchen, glass of wine in hand.
The only difference this time is I don't think I have it in me to come back. I'm sick of living this monotonous routine, I'm not happy and I know she isn't either. I don't know how we could possibly get back from this; she's not willing to reduce her hours and I'm not willing to have a relationship with an answering machine. It's not that I don't understand her drive to work, the passion she has for her job; I know I love my own more than most. For her though, it's an obsession. She trusts no one, she hates delegating the many tasks to her team, a perfectionist through and through which usually leaves her to do the job of 5.
I couldn't pin point the moment Santana began to love her job more than her fiancé but I can tell you it was a long time back now. I've stayed, hoping, praying that she might see what she's doing to us, what she's doing to me.
But here we are again.
It's our anniversary, yet the dinner I spent hours preparing is sat cold at the dinner table, the candle wax spilling down the side from the hours they've been lit. She left the house at 6am for work, getting home past 9 having promised me she would be home for 7. I begged her to take the day off, I knew she'd be exhausted and more than that, I knew she'd be late. Two hours. Two hours she had me sat there, not a phone call or text, heading straight to the kitchen for wine upon getting home, walking right past me without so much as a hello, let alone a sorry.
I don't know who she is anymore. She's not the loving, passionate woman that stole my heart on the streets of New York. She's not who I fell in love with but that doesn't change the fact that I do, still, love her. Just as I don't know how I can continue this self-destructive routine, I don't know how I'd survive without her.
She's not only my fiancé, the love of my life, she's my best friend. But would leaving really be all that different? We barely exchange pleasantries as is; if I left, my day to day life wouldn't change. It's the idea that leaving means giving up. Giving up on her, giving up on us; giving up on happiness. And it's that thought that keeps me grounded to the bed; I know I could never be happy without her so surely it's better to be miserable with the one you love, than miserable and alone?
Shimmers of the old Santana still shine through, it's when I least expect it that she proves to me there's a chance. There's a chance we can be what we once were, or better yet, we could be something else entirely. But the glimpses are few and far between.
My heart sits heavy in my chest as I pull the suitcase off the bed and drag it across our bedroom floor, unlatching the door before walking through the living area. Santana's exactly where I left her, standing in the kitchen, wine glass in hand except she's already two thirds through her second glass and I've barely been gone half an hour. She knows this time is different, just as I do and she's hunched over the counter, forehead pressed to the cabinet above as she no doubt debates what to say to me.
I'm hovering in the door way and I know she senses my presence, she's tensed up, awaiting the words she knows are coming. They sound foreign on my tongue, as though they are betraying my every wish, probably because they are. And like that, I'm closing the door behind me, leaving the home we made for ourselves, tears sliding down my cheeks as I make the familiar walk for the very last time.
"I tried."