Say you love me

Again...?

When John was sober, he was the sweetest man Chris could imagine. The one she fell in love with, the one who gave her kisses and held her hand and sometimes danced with her to Beatles songs. When he drank, he was a completely different person. As kind as he was sober, he was just plain nasty when he was drunk. He belittled her and snapped at her, he'd kiss her sloppily and make a cheap grab at her like she was some kind of fucking whore or something. Chris never truly believed how much alcohol could change a person until it changed her own husband.

Alcohol didn't stop John from playing though; hell, he could play a whole show while tuned up. From the audience you couldn't even guess he'd had enough whiskey to poisen an elephant he was that composed. It'd start as a drink or two to loosen up before the show, or relax during rehearsal, then another and another until John was completely miffed. The other members of the band were too busy getting wasted to notice.

"John, you need to get your drinking under control," Chris said one morning after the nasty kitchen scene. She stood at the sink looking out the window, her back to him. The ashtray was now replaced with a vase of plastic flowers. "What do you mean 'under control'?" John asked as he nursed a glass of water. His head ached like mad. He imagined a thousand tiny men banging hammers on the inside of his skull. "I mean you need to stop getting fucked up every night! You're hungover every morning and I'm sick of it."
"Bullshit I am!" John said defiantly as he gripped his water glass tightly.
"You're hungover right now! Don't fucking deny it, I heard you trying to open the Tylenol bottle." John couldn't open a child proof cap to save his life.

"Have you ever thought that maybe I need something to help me relax? You're not the only one with problems, Chris."
"Oh, and your life is so hard, right? Wake up, play a show, go to sleep. God, that's just awful!" Chris slapped her hands on the counter for emphasis.

"I'm trying to keep us in this house! I don't see you busting your ass every night for a check, all you have to do is play your piano and sit pretty."
"Fuck you, John!"
Without a word, John got up from the table and walked out of the kitchen. Chris could hear him stomp up the stairs and slam their bedroom door.
************************************
For every loss, there's a gain. For every gain, loss. John and Christine could both testify to that.
Later, they could tell you a novel's worth.
1 month later:
Chris sat on the edge of the tub impatiently, her gaze darting from the tiny stick in her hand to the small clock on the sink then back to the stick. Her period was late, and she'd always been as regular as an almanac. The small stick had a cross, marking positive. Disbelieving, she opened the box for the second one she picked up at the drugstore, then went for a giant glass of water.
Exactly ten minutes later, still positive. I have another chance.
She would've been happy, if not for John.

She prayed he'd come home sober, so there would be a chance he'd be logical about it the second time around.
************************************
Chris made dinner and set the table nicely, she even found candles. For dinner she made lasagna, which John loved but she hated making. She didn't like having to prepare the sauce and meat for most of the day before finally putting it in the oven for an hour; to her it was easier to pop in a frozen Stouffers and call it dinner but John loved it homemade.

She skipped rehearsal today, and she and John were normally home by seven, so that's when she expected him. Playing with her wedding ring, she nervously looked at the clock on the stove. Six forty five. Oh god please let him be understanding. He knows I want kids so bad, and this is second chance for me. I'm healthy, I know I can carry this baby to term.
Seven o' clock. John wasn't home yet.
Eight fifteen. Where was he?
Nine o' clock.

The fucker's probably out getting drunk, Chris thought to herself as she scraped John's dinner down the garbage disposal. She slammed the plate onto the counter and started to clean up the kitchen when she heard the door open.

"Chrissy? Where's my sexy fucking wife?" John's voice slurred as he entered the house. He was definitely wasted. Fuck. Chris continued to clean up in silence, putting away the plates and utensils and wiping down the counters.
"Chrissy?"
"I'm in here," Chris called in a monotone voice. She didn't feel like dealing with him, not tonight.

John stumbled into the kitchen. "What's all this?" Chris sighed, annoyed as fuck. "It was supposed to be dinner." John shifted from foot to foot. He smelled like Jack Daniel's and cigarettes. His shirt was stained with beer and his clothes looked rumpled.

"Practice ran late," John explained as he sat down at the table. Bullshit. "Okay," Chris said. "Whatever you say."
"You're annoyed with me." John came over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, trying to kiss her neck. Chris struggled away, irritated. "Don't, John. Just don't, okay?"

"You're so mad that I can't even kiss you?"
"No! I busted my ass trying to make us a nice little dinner, and you come home late without even bothering to call, and you smell like Jack! You spend every fucking night at the bar and I can't do this anymore John, I can't." Chris threw up her hands in exasperation. "Hey, how was I supposed to know you were waiting for me? You've never done anything like this before! It's always frozen dinners every goddamn night, Christine." John's voice turned angry.

"I'm not dealing with your bullshit tonight, you fucker! I wanted to do something nice so maybe, just fucking maybe when I told you I'm pregnant again you'd behave like a goddamn mature adult! I guess I should've expected less," Chris smirked. She threw down the dish towel she had in her hand and started for the livingroom. She didn't stop to see John's expression, fuck him.

John followed her out. "Christine, we can't fucking have a kid!" He bellowed, his breath sending whiskey fumes through the room. "We have no money, we have no space! How the hell could you be so selfish to let this happen again?"
"I'm selfish? That's so funny coming from you, John. You wanted me to get an abortion the first time. You never took precautions on your side. You stayed out late every night when I was depressed after the miscarriage, and you call me selfish?" She sat down on the couch and folded her arms across her chest, smirking.

When she stood up and started to climb the stairs, her foot had only just barely reached the first step when suddenly she was yanked back hard. John grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her so hard that Chris could feel her teeth clacking together. "God, I hate you! I hate you so much! I wish I never fucking met you, woman!" Tears of anger ran down John's face in a drunken rage. Was this really John? The John who was so kind and sweet? Now he was a monster, a ghost of his former self.

She bit through her tongue and tasted blood. She swallowed it down, ignoring its bitter taste. Letting go of her, John released his grip so quickly that Chris fell back and tripped on the stairs. She scrambled to her feet and ran upstairs, holding onto the banister. She ran to their bedroom, locking the door behind her. Panting, she sat down on the bed and began to cry. This wasn't her husband. John Mcvie wasn't John Mcvie anymore.

That's when Christine knew. She put a hand to her stomach, trying to control her tears. She knew she couldn't raise a child with John, not like this. Even if she wasn't pregnant she knew John needed serious help.
Christine had to leave her husband.
************************************
In the morning, she packed her bag. She threw in her clothes, toiletries, cosmetics. She reached under her secret spot in her mattress and got out the stash of emergency money she always saved, just in case.

Chris went into the living room where John was sleeping on the couch. His hair was mussed and he looked peaceful. Christine suddenly thought back to her first trip home with him when they both fell asleep, and it hurt to remember. She bent down and softly kissed his lips. She stroked his face and whispered in his ear, "I'm so sorry."