[Fic] Little Things
Little Things
It was the little things he picked up on first. Small things, like her flinching as he rested his hand on her shoulder, or the way she was constantly staring into space. Little things that could and were easily explained or brushed aside. If asked, she’d simply shake her head, almost as if she were waking herself up, and flash forced smile. The problem was, once he had noticed the little things, it was difficult to ignore the others. It doesn’t take three and a half hours to go to the shops, even if it is late night shopping. And the fact that she wouldn’t meet his gaze only added to his suspicions.
They were like strangers in their own house. It seemed like he was barely there, and when he was… well, ‘small talk’ was stretching it. Most of the time she would just sit and stare out the window, slowly twisting her wedding band.
She had been given time off work, not that she had wanted it. She didn’t want to have to think, to feel. But she had been ordered at least a month off or don’t come back at all. He had been allowed back though, giving her some space to breathe and him a welcome distraction.
He mostly handled paperwork, methodical and predictable, no unexpected surprises. It was a boring job, but he always stayed back late for hours after his scheduled knock off time. He was part of a large company, easily able to slip through the cracks.
The first time- the only time- he had not stayed at work late, he had come home to find a completely darkened house. He had not been sure exactly why he had come home early, but something was urging him and he obeyed. He arrived, confused as to why the lights in the house were turned off despite the fact it was well after seven. Cautiously opening the door, he crept throughout the house, searching for her until there was only one room left, the painted wooden letters on the door proudly proclaiming that it was Libby’s room.
He hadn’t been in the room for months, and had thought the same was true of his wife, but apparently he was wrong, because the sobbing and moaning from behind the faded door told him otherwise. Sighing deeply, he pushed the door open, squinting in the half-light. The light he had switched on in the kitchen allowed him to see the room and all its contents. The cot stood cold and silent at the far end of the room, a mobile hanging above it, swinging slightly. Several books and teddy bears sat high on the bookshelf, photos lining the dressing table proudly, all keepsakes of another life. And there she was, hidden in shadow in the rocking chair tucked into the corner of the room.
She had looked up as soon as he had entered, trying in vain to hide the bear she was holding and wiping her blotchy eyes. His heart was telling him to comfort her, to hold her, to promise to never leave again, and yet something else deep inside of him was bubbling up, and he was filled with hatred towards the weak woman who refused to move on.
He was stuck somewhere between fight or flight, because staying here would surely result in an argument. He said nothing and neither did she. She just hiccupped himself into silence, all the while staring at that fucking bear in her hands. Look at me! He thought, willing her to move as the rage bubbled inside of him again, Talk to me!
She looked up suddenly, her eyes wide and he realised that he must have spoken aloud. The room was still silent and cold, and the shadows in the once bright and colourful room gave it an eerie feel, much like a circus in the dead of night.
“I’m. I’m.” He started to apologise, but couldn’t. This was her fault. It was all her fault. They could have sat there for seconds or days. Neither one moved until suddenly she jumped up and, dodging past him, ran for the door. He reached out, managing to catch one of her wrists. She continued to struggle, twisting and jerking so violently it seemed like she had stopped being human and become something feral. In that moment he felt the hatred bubble out and fill him, and he wrenched her wrist back, grabbing the other and pinning them both easily above her with one hand, pushing her against the door.
She had let Libby die. She was supposed to be looking after her.
She was still struggling, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, and he tightened his grip on her, slamming her small body up against the door. She whimpered, her eyes fixed down at her feet. Still holding both her hands in one of his own, he slid the other under her chin, forcing her to look at him, but she squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“Look at me!” The monster reared inside of him until all he could feel was the hatred filling him up. Her fear, it was beautiful, and yet so ugly at the same time. She was weak, inferior to him, and she still wouldn’t look at him!
“Look. At. Me!” He let her arms go suddenly, the monster gaining a small sense of satisfaction watching her crumple to the ground, whimpering and sniffling. As he moved closer, she attempted to slide backwards, hiccupping and snivelling, but she still wouldn’t make eye contact.
The monster inside of him hissed, begging for more. She needs to pay. She needs to hurt. And then she did the one thing he had been begging her to do. She looked up, and almost immediately after, he wished she hadn’t. Green. All he could see was bright green eyes, wide and fearful. Libby’s eyes.
He had fallen in love with those eyes. From the first moment he had seen her, her eyes had captivated him. He was mesmerised by the way they burned bright with determination or pride, and had spent hours trying to memorise the exact shades in them. And then she had passed them on to Libby, and he had fallen in love with them all over again.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to escape those burning eyes, but he knew that now they had made eye contact again, he would never get away from them. He looked to the door, running a hand over the wooden letters, tracing them. Memories flooded his mind, new and old, good and bad. Then he turned and looked at his broken, crying wife huddled in the corner. The woman he had blamed and hated for a life lost. The woman who shared just as much blame as he did.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, more to himself than her, before striding out through the front door, closing it behind him forever.