So this sprung from the amalgamation of ideas that people gave me so, yeah.
Ooh jumping timelines again. La di da.
Debby my love, Luce! Shh!
You're lazing in the precinct, feet up on the table, eyeing the ceiling - thinking deep about things tonight. You had an extremely clear idea of what you wanted to do with her and thinking about that any longer, you're probably going to go insane with desire. The pressing question was however - how were you going to do that - when you're terrified of entering her house, for the fear of being assaulted by memories that really put you down.
You step into the bedroom, and you know tempers are still high and your palms are sweating, and you really should have waited. And for the life of you, you don't understand why you step into the bedroom. The tension in the room is high, you can feel it as you tread into the room, barely breathing and riled up. You rub your palm over your face, trying to calm yourself down. You shut the door behind you as you step into the bedroom, leaning on the back of the door, trying to take a moment and simmer off.
You see she's sitting up on your bed, leaning against the back of it with her knees propped on the mattress. She's looking at you with anger and annoyance, and you're eyeing her with cold disregard. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, head still hard against the door, trying to find some words to say.
It's late, really late - and you've got a shift in the morning. So, you're trying to not stir things up again - this argument was going to have to be continued later.
You're standing there, pushing back your hair with your hands, wiping some sweat from your brow as well, shifting your feet and twiddling with your fingers so much - doing anything to just dispel all this energy. It isn't enough really - you're biting your lip, rubbing your eyes only to make them more sweaty and irritated, trying to choke back this lump in your throat (but it doesn't go away really.) You're looking at her, and trying to calm down. If anything - she could calm you down, she's probably the only soul who could calm you down, but she's so pissed at you. And for the first time you think that maybe you should have stayed down a little longer. Perhaps you should have come upstairs later, when you were completely drained of all this anger and tired enough to just hit the bed. Like you always did. And this was becoming quite a habit indeed.
Perhaps you should have done that - maybe things would have gone so different if you had just waited, if patience was just a virtue you had possessed, maybe things would have gone so very differently. Things would have been so extremely different, but you're here now, staring her straight in the eye, and she's looking back at you right in the eye as well.
The tension lasts for a while, she's waiting for you to say something, and you're waiting for her to say anything. But neither of you utter a word - so you're just standing there, staring at each in silence, waiting for the other to break.
When has patience ever been a virtue of yours.
You give in first, and you push back your hair again with both your hands, not really sure what to do with them, and mouth the words that proceeded to haunt you for a long time.
"This was fun, like always." you mutter, not really sure where you got the line from.
You see her take a sharp breath and close her eyes, and again, you're not sure why, but you push yourself off the back of the door and towards the bed. Were you that tired? Was the argument really that draining? You don't really know.
"Gail, I think you should probably go."
You can't understand how you know it - that tone of finality in the statement, the pain with which she says it, the emphasis on the word "Go", the way her head hits the back of the bed as she finishes that statement - and for the edge you are already on, that was probably the final shove you needed.
You take it in, swallow those words - and they echo a bit in your head for a minute, it feels like someone bashed a crow bar into your head, the words just jarring your head and you slowly stumbled out of the room, feeling too dazed to look back as you shut the door behind you.
You shake your head, trying to get the memory out of your head, but you know it's going to play out in your mind anyway. Picking your feet off the table and sitting up right, you come back to your original problem i.e. where you were going to take your ex-wife for the night - not the average problem you've faced before.
Your home?
Pfft - if it was a place you never cared about. It was a roof above your ahead, a place to come to sleep, and a place too ill-kept to care. Nope, no way were you going to take her there. Nada.
It's very late - that's probably all you know. It's late. That's time enough. Your how-manieth drink? That's not a care right now. You're just kicking back drink after drink, anything to drown out that voice in your head. Which doesn't seem to be shutting up. The next part of the story was filled into by Traci, who had come by after you drunkenly called her at 4:17 in the morning. Your phone suddenly begins to ring loudly - and you manage to pick it up just before it ends.
"Holly!" you yell out, wow - how drunk are you.
"Gail where are you?" you can hear the concern in her voice, and yay the alcohol's working so you it just slips right over your head.
"We should get a divorce!" you shriek, probably way too loud.
Traci's looking at you in horror and you're too drunk to even realize what you just said. You can hear barely hear Holly telling you to get home soon as Traci pulls the phone from your hand to tell Holly to relax a bit and that she would be bringing you home soon.
The next morning you don't really remember much of the previous night, so you don't understand why she isn't there at home, when you wake up. And you're late as hell for your shift.