Jerrie One Shots - Fluff, Smut, Anything Really...

Love me or leave me

You know the song ;) / :(

I am fed up. 

That's all I ever seem to think or say in this house. I'm fed up of coming home to an empty house. I got married to have a partner but it seems like I'm living practically alone. I'm fed up of coming home to a pile of dishes in the sink and no food left in the fridge. I'm fed up of my wife not coming up to me with arms wide open when I walk into our house anymore.

I know she's busy, no one can help the incredulous urge to get a promotion, especially if you're recovering from a band break up from almost 2 years ago. She's doing so well, working on her new music and stuff, but I've been doing the same. I can't help but think she's trying to escape me. 

I drop the heavy shopping bags at my sides and fix the curling door mat at the floor of the front door. I twist the lock, although sometimes I wish I'd have a home invasion, just so I see someone in my house at least. 

Anger builds in my stomach. I'm not sure why I'm so angry but maybe the pile of dirty dishes knocks the lid off the pot. Or maybe it was the glasses of Perrie's birthday wine sitting on the kitchen island, lipstick stains around the rim. Perhaps it was the low sound of TV static echoing across the house. Maybe I wasn't angry, I was upset. 

I throw my keys to the coffee table by the sofa, not needing to look anymore. My jaw clenches at the sound of them hitting the wood, the sound of thin metal colliding reverberating against the walls. I take the bags to the kitchen, emptying the contents into their respective places. I'm so used to doing this alone now I can barely remember when we used to do this together. 

I'm basically a maid, she never sees me and I do all the chores in the house. You could barely call me her wife. The word is just a legal term for me now. 

After washing the dishes and emptying the clothes from the dryer into the clothes basket, I grab my tub of ice cream from the freezer and a large spoon. I treated myself to ice cream. 

I sit on the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions. We used to do this: curl up under a blanket, throw on our favourite film or series at the time, and share a tub of Ben and Jerrie's cookie dough ice cream. It's still my fave, although Perrie told me recently a friend of hers - someone called Alex - had swayed her to like chocolate. 

Swayed was the word she used. 

Swaying, like thin branches on trees in a summer breeze. Swaying, like those Hawaiian belly dancers you see on TV. Swaying, like dancing to melancholy music with your back pressed against a man. 

I saw the video. 

'He's just a friend, babe.' 

Babe. She never called me babe before. It was off but I couldn't accuse Perrie of cheating - she wouldn't do that. I know she wouldn't. It just hurt to see her doing something she used to do with me. 

I remember she said I had swayed her once. 

I jump slightly at the sound of keys in the door. She's home. I decide that instead of getting up to kiss her, I will stay right where I am . Perhaps it will show her how fed up I am.

"Jadey? I'm home!"

I hear her expectant call but I have no reply. My eyes fixate on the most recent episode of Call the Midwife on the screen in front of me in the dark. 

Her footsteps seem panicked, as if she realised I'm not coming to her attention. The door barely closes before she's in the room with me, rushing to check if I'm even alive. 

"Jade?" she says, quite breathlessly. 

"Oh, hi."

The blonde stops moving, as if she's realised something is wrong.