Peaches

Six

My wine had become my new best friend, there for me when I woke and when I readied myself for sleep. It wasn't an unfamiliar routine, hell, it was almost a treat. Only this time around I was drinking to get rid of my feelings, not for a good time.

It had been two weeks since the concert at the Brickhouse, and I made sure to do everything in my power to avoid Chris. It was safe to say that we both could do without the tension that brought us back to that shitty night. My only escape was to rotate between my bedroom, bathroom, occasionally the kitchen, and of course work.

Chris could see me change, growing more distant and cold, but he didn't bother to apologize. At first, he made some shoddy attempts to talk with me as we had before, but I made sure to give him the cold shoulder every chance I had. Soon enough the weak effort in conversation turned into a snappy, 'where are you going?' Or, 'what's your problem?'.

He couldn't fool me. If he cared in the first place, we wouldn't be where we are.

Sure, I felt like turning back and answering all of his persistent questions, yet each time I reminded myself of the ache in my chest. A pain so rare and foreign to me, I didn't understand how to help myself. Never had I allowed anyone to play with my heart in such a way.

So with every lazy attempt he made to weasel his way back in, and every sympathetic look, I was sure to return with deafening silence and a slammed door.

Eventually, he had reverted to even more careless and aggressive tendencies, slamming things around and muttering under his breath. Going to extremes to show me how upset he was, light his cigarettes in the front room, knowing that it had always bothered me.

Coincidentally enough he began ignoring me right back, not even sneaking a slight glance at me. Some nights he wouldn't come home at all, and some he would be home but high out of his mind. His belongings were strewn around throughout the house, some things broken and thrown in piles. It was all evidence that he had taken aggressions out on mere objects and sensory numbing opiates.

Just the sight of him was irritating, the nodding off, the new bruises on his knuckles and jaw. There was obviously no lifestyle change in the making, he was comfortable right where he was at. Passing by him, I scowled and stomped, confident that he could taste my bitterness. Though he didn't show a hint of a reaction, I knew I had made myself clear.

Who knew we would grow to hate each other. At this point, I can just hope he hates me as much as I do him. In hopes of making it all a little easier.

I had been out all day, shopping, and touching up one of my thigh tattoos. Trying to enjoy a personal day was difficult when I had a heavy heart. I felt more alone than I ever had, the annoying pain of heartache swelled in my chest, growing day after day.

This was my own fault and I knew it, but I also knew that he was also to blame. Knowing this I'm not ashamed to admit that blaming him helped my sadness. As did the wine.

I opened the front door, frustrated that it had been left unlocked, and stepped in. A heavy fruity perfume filled the air, and I heard a faint giggle coming from the kitchen.

With a heavy feeling in my chest, I scanned over the living room to see a pair of skanky heels next to a small red purse. I didn't have to investigate further to understand what was going on. The thought of it all happening right in my own home made me twinge with disgust.

This fucking pig.

I shouldn't be surprised that he would bring a ditzy little bitch to my house, but I sure as hell did not expect it.

Flames grew within me as I stomped to the kitchen to see a girl with platinum blonde hair sitting on my counter without pants on. Without a care in the world in her God damned underwear, grinding with Chris.