A/N: Ah, another chapter! I don't know why I always procrastinate writing. I love to write, but for some reason I can never make myself do it. Why? Ugh.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! PLEASE don't forget to leave a review! Have a good day!

Triggers in this chapter: Suicidal themes.

I do admit, I was nervous about seeing my wife after I moved out. It felt like an eternity since I saw Amanda even though it was not that long ago. She had an effect on me that was hard to explain, but I'll try my best to clarify my emotions. Amanda was something special and dear to me, yet more often than not she single handedly caused me most of my pain and depression. She could be screaming at my and hitting my chest and face with all of her force, but I'd remain still and know that no matter what my love for the stripper would never leave. It was difficult for me to understand my own feelings for her. I always felt my chest tighten and stomach knot when I saw her and knew about the history we shared together. I didn't see that ending our relationship would do any good other than to throw away over ten years of feelings and progress. I knew she wasn't that good for me, but would could I do? She was like poison in a way that she was toxic, but I couldn't quit coming back to her and letting myself get sick off of her once more.

She has been labeled by my former therapist, Dr. Friedlander, as a vicious cycle. He explained that each day, or strung out in a few days, we always followed the same or similar pattern. We'd start off alright and talking, then hit a nerve, cue the yelling, possibly hitting on Amanda's part, someone leaving, and finally me drinking my thoughts away while she hooked up with a random male just to get back at me. Why was my life like this? Why were we so dysfunctional? Was it the way we were brought up, or our personalities that drove us into such a destructive pattern? Yes, we were both raised in a trailer court, but as far as I know, most people who lived in trailer courts don't turn into alcoholics with an unexplainable record for killing people. Or, for Amanda's case, cheating women who desire to go under the knife with every part of their body.

I tried my best to act at least a little confident as I approached my wife at the coffee shop, Bean Machine, a few blocks from my old house. Amanda was wearing a short sleeved dark chocolate t-shirt and tightly fitted jeans, too much jewelry in forms of necklaces in bracelets to show off the money that she had. She barely lifted her hand in a wave as I sat in the empty chair across from her on the patio table, a white umbrella on top shielding us from the hot sun.
She had her arms crossed with a heavy amount of attitude. I already felt like this day was never going to end even before I got a word out due to the stiff tension in the air.

She let out a drawed out sigh and pursed her rose colored lips, mocha eyes narrowed at me. She grumbled, "I thought you'd want your usual."
I glanced down at the hot caramel latte in front of me on the table. I thanked her, but didn't take a sip. She mumbled under her breath, "Never seemed thankful when you were with me, asshole."
I raised up my hands in a defensive manner and remarked, "I just got here and you are already about to rip me a new one, eh?"
Amanda rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms, me lowering my hands as well and resting them on the table. She stated with force, "I am not going to be here long."
I nodded slowly, a bit confused in all honesty since we were, to my knowledge, going to be trying to work on our marriage. I asked her, very slightly tilting my head, "Then why did you come here? I-I mean, I'm glad you did and all, but why make the effort to meet up if you ain't committed to go through things?"
She scoffed and adverted her eyes from me entirely, staring off at the cement ground next to her. "I don't answer to you. Not anymore. My boyfriend, Dexter, is practicing to be a psychologist. He said that you are unstable and controlling. Men like you always are."
A tried to suppress my laughter as I watched her, almost not believing what I was hearing. Me, always having to push it, informed with a smirk, "I got a friend named Mary Anne. You two? You'd get along great. She hates men and likes to exercise. You hate men and like to do yoga. I think Franklin mentioned he had an aunt that hates men and likes to 'spirit walk'."

Amanda turned her attention to me and instantly snapped when I was finished talking, "I don't hate men, I hate you! Everyone else is fine by me! It's you, Michael!"
After her voice died down, it was silent at our table. A lingering feeling of sadness mixed with confused anger filled the air around us. I couldn't describe if I had all the time in the universe, not knowing what caused her to yell at me this time and say that she hated me. I sat still, fidgeting with the sleeves of my gray suit. Here my wife sat in front of me letting me know that she hated me when I had been completely prepared to, once again, patch up our love. Amanda had never told me she hated me even though she had come close. It was words that we both agreed would never leave out mouth unless we were completely done and had thrown in the towel.
I sighed quietly and stood, shaking my head. I grabbed the check from the table and whispered, refusing to glance at the woman, "I'm gonna go. It was nice seein' you, Mandy."

I picked up the coffee bill and walked with a heavy heart to the waitress who stood near the front door to the Bean Machine, waiting for someone to need her assistance. I, not caring, pulled out twenty dollars and muttered, "Keep the change."
While I walked to my car, I asked myself mentally if I was abusive. I had never thought of myself more than a guy trying to get by in the madness of Los Santos, and well, the world. I started my car once inside and watched as Amanda had her eyes closed and gently twirling her coffee cup between her hands, obviously lost in thought. She didn't have any expression to indicate how she felt, her face completely blank.
I gave a final shake of my head as I started my car and drove away from my love and the establishment. My mind gave in to the thoughts that had been creeping on me throughout my stay at my apartment. Maybe if I had been in therapy during this time, would things be different? Maybe if I'd spent more time on myself, would I be a better person? Maybe if I wasn't around, would things be easier?

I felt my foot hit the gas suddenly as I made a quick exit onto the Los Santos freeway. My breath quickened, and before I knew it, I started to swerve in and out of cars and lanes of rush hour traffic, pushing one hundred miles per hour. Tears filled my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks as cars swerved to get out of my way, creating a straight clear path for me. They laid on their horns and screamed at me from their cars. I showed no sign of slowing down or breaking for anybody. I'd gave up while my mind fixated on the thought that nobody in the world cared for me anymore. Trevor was the only man to show a sign of friendship, but even he seemed to be drawing himself from me and letting me know I was becoming to fake and plastic for him to handle. Franklin was a kid and didn't have the time for me, Lester didn't socialize, Jimmy didn't want to be seen with me, Tracey deemed me as uncool, and now my wife hated me.

As I sped along as fast as my small car could, I noticed a highway divider coming up to my left. It was what was used to show that traffic was going both ways on each side of the highway. It looked solid and as if it wouldn't be able to allow me to keep travelling if I crashed into it.
I whispered to myself, sobbing while I started to let my car drift into the object that was quickly coming up, "You're doing the right thing. You're doing the right thing. You're doing-"
I didn't feel the impact, surprisingly, when I slammed into the cement divider in the middle of the road that did its job of separating the four lanes of traffic. No, all I felt was myself almost instantly losing consciousness as screams, car horns, and the sickening sound of glass shattering while the car flipped danced in my ears, along with one familiar song.
When everything faded out, one song remained that barely strung out in the destroyed car.

"Stayed up dreaming has left me numb. Blue eyes and wondering lips, true lies through fingertips, hidden tales of forbidden love-"