(no subject)
Title: Nobody Move
Rating: R-ish
Prompt: record, curse
Summary: You and Kim stop having sex.
Word Count: 694
Disclaimer
Notes: Part of the Have to Explode series. That's right! The unnamed bunch of vignettes has a name, and it's Have to Explode after the Mountain Goats song of the same title, lyrics here. For the spittingink prompts "record" and "curse".
You lay in bed next to Kim with her head on your shoulder, and her breath too heavy on your neck. Conor's breath, when he is there, is lighter, peaceful, and it could put you right to sleep.
You miss him.
He told you he was going away for a while, and Justin and Matt are both refusing to tell you where he is. He hasn't called, and it's been more than a month. You hope he's doing alright. That said, he's probably doing better without your bad influence.
You close your eyes and try to sleep.
---
You spend the day with Sierra, who's progressed from laying and crying to making small noises, and she coos when you pick her up. You smile and kiss her forehead, because there will always be someone who needs you, now.
(You ignore the fact that she will grow up and turn into her own, independent person. The more selfish part of you thinks maybe you'll be dead by then.)
Kim has written a note, telling you she's off grocery shopping, but it's three hours before she comes home. You're watching TV, Sierra still in your arms, and you try to offer your wife a smile.
She rolls her eyes, and turns to put the groceries away.
---
More months pass without word from Conor, and more coke pours into your veins. You're writing songs that are angrier sometimes, venom spilling from your pen in stark contrast to the much gentler side of you that you show around Sierra.
You and Kim stop having sex.
You only really realize you've stopped when you stumble home, a little bit tipsy, at three in the morning. You've been out with Justin and Mike and Jenny, and you haven't had sex in weeks - not with Kim, not with anyone, since Conor's gone - and you want it.
She rolls over, when you start to kiss her neck, hips angled away from you, with her back against your chest. You take that as a no, and you're not going to try again.
---
After a few days of no sex, you start playing around with the old four-track in Justin's basement. The songs you record are no longer angry, just lonely, and plaintiff, and Justin watches you with a small frown, and Jenny starts giving you fixes for free.
---
You spend half your time in the dusty old basement you met Conor in, and you spend the other half with Sierra. Sometimes, you bring her to the basement, if you feel like sobering up.
Sierra will sit contentedly in Jenny's arms, as Jenny coos and fusses over the baby.
You think maybe you should have married Jenny, who's almost as fond of Conor as she is of her drugs, instead of Kim.
---
It doesn't really come as a surprise to you when Kim comes home with a legal-sized manilla envelope, full of legal-sized papers you need to sign. "I want a divorce," she tells you.
You sort of wish you could say you were taken off guard, that you were stunned by her words while you cooked dinner. But as it is, you just stir the tomato sauce, and say, "Oh." You pause, and then you look at her, and you say, "I want custody of Sierra."
Kim, she laughs - she outright laughs at you. "Tim," she says, "honey. I could make such a case against you. You're high all the time. As a musician, you're not going to be home when you're on tour."
"You don't have a job," he points out.
"But I just finished online courses in massage," she says, and you curse those late night self-help-education advertisements for pseudo-schools. "I'm going to make a living, be able to support both myself and her, and be home all the time. And don't forget, you'll be paying child support."
She sounds so smug, so self-assured, and now you're sure you've lost everything. "Fuck you," you say, setting down the wooden spoon. "I'll fight you on it."
"And I'll still win," she says. "Make this easy. Sign the fucking papers. Get out of my house. We'll settle the rest in court."
You don't point out that you bought the house. You don't argue. You don't beg. You just pick up the pen.
Rating: R-ish
Prompt: record, curse
Summary: You and Kim stop having sex.
Word Count: 694
Disclaimer
Notes: Part of the Have to Explode series. That's right! The unnamed bunch of vignettes has a name, and it's Have to Explode after the Mountain Goats song of the same title, lyrics here. For the spittingink prompts "record" and "curse".
You lay in bed next to Kim with her head on your shoulder, and her breath too heavy on your neck. Conor's breath, when he is there, is lighter, peaceful, and it could put you right to sleep.
You miss him.
He told you he was going away for a while, and Justin and Matt are both refusing to tell you where he is. He hasn't called, and it's been more than a month. You hope he's doing alright. That said, he's probably doing better without your bad influence.
You close your eyes and try to sleep.
---
You spend the day with Sierra, who's progressed from laying and crying to making small noises, and she coos when you pick her up. You smile and kiss her forehead, because there will always be someone who needs you, now.
(You ignore the fact that she will grow up and turn into her own, independent person. The more selfish part of you thinks maybe you'll be dead by then.)
Kim has written a note, telling you she's off grocery shopping, but it's three hours before she comes home. You're watching TV, Sierra still in your arms, and you try to offer your wife a smile.
She rolls her eyes, and turns to put the groceries away.
---
More months pass without word from Conor, and more coke pours into your veins. You're writing songs that are angrier sometimes, venom spilling from your pen in stark contrast to the much gentler side of you that you show around Sierra.
You and Kim stop having sex.
You only really realize you've stopped when you stumble home, a little bit tipsy, at three in the morning. You've been out with Justin and Mike and Jenny, and you haven't had sex in weeks - not with Kim, not with anyone, since Conor's gone - and you want it.
She rolls over, when you start to kiss her neck, hips angled away from you, with her back against your chest. You take that as a no, and you're not going to try again.
---
After a few days of no sex, you start playing around with the old four-track in Justin's basement. The songs you record are no longer angry, just lonely, and plaintiff, and Justin watches you with a small frown, and Jenny starts giving you fixes for free.
---
You spend half your time in the dusty old basement you met Conor in, and you spend the other half with Sierra. Sometimes, you bring her to the basement, if you feel like sobering up.
Sierra will sit contentedly in Jenny's arms, as Jenny coos and fusses over the baby.
You think maybe you should have married Jenny, who's almost as fond of Conor as she is of her drugs, instead of Kim.
---
It doesn't really come as a surprise to you when Kim comes home with a legal-sized manilla envelope, full of legal-sized papers you need to sign. "I want a divorce," she tells you.
You sort of wish you could say you were taken off guard, that you were stunned by her words while you cooked dinner. But as it is, you just stir the tomato sauce, and say, "Oh." You pause, and then you look at her, and you say, "I want custody of Sierra."
Kim, she laughs - she outright laughs at you. "Tim," she says, "honey. I could make such a case against you. You're high all the time. As a musician, you're not going to be home when you're on tour."
"You don't have a job," he points out.
"But I just finished online courses in massage," she says, and you curse those late night self-help-education advertisements for pseudo-schools. "I'm going to make a living, be able to support both myself and her, and be home all the time. And don't forget, you'll be paying child support."
She sounds so smug, so self-assured, and now you're sure you've lost everything. "Fuck you," you say, setting down the wooden spoon. "I'll fight you on it."
"And I'll still win," she says. "Make this easy. Sign the fucking papers. Get out of my house. We'll settle the rest in court."
You don't point out that you bought the house. You don't argue. You don't beg. You just pick up the pen.