hey all! i know its been a minute but i was writing this little cringe ass blurb and havent finished it. i got some inspiration from the lovely @golden-gypsy after she sent me an ask nearly a year ago 😅 this has been living in my drafts for a while. im not sure if ill finish it unforunately. things have been weird and ive been going through my adhd cycle of interests where i dump the last one and move onto the next. anyway, enjoy whatever the hell this is.
This is fucking pathetic. It's midnight, it's freezing, and I'm alone on the street, calling my wife on a payphone.
I stood out in the freezing Seattle cold, clutching a payphone as I called my wife. I wanted to laugh at myself for how pitiful it all seemed. I've barely talked to her - shit, I haven't even seen her since I went to Oklahoma. We talked on the phone but I never had much to say. And I didn't really know what to say. But I thought about her. I thought about her all the fucking time. And I would've actually talked to her, made that effort, had I felt worthy of it. I didn't deserve it. It wasn't fair to her. I needed to get my shit together.
When I came back to Washington, I tried to give Raven - and myself - plenty of time. I didn't want to go home right away, I wanted to try to get back into the swing of things. I set up some dates to write and rehearse with Sean and Mike. When that all fell through, I got pretty discouraged. I went from motel to motel, couch to couch, trying to write some of my own stuff. I was pretty much living in my car for that whole week. And I just wrote. A lot. I wrote about everything, but especially her. It felt like I would never stop.
And it hit me that I had freewill. I could just go to her. I could turn on the engine and drive home.
I was sitting in my car that night, trying to get at least a little sleep. But I couldn't stop thinking of Raven. I thought maybe I could get to sleep easier thinking of her. I imagined her next to me, leaning on my
shoulder and pointing at stars through the windshield. Tracing out constellations I've never heard of with her finger.
"Are you sure?" I asked, trying not to sound or feel like a begging dog.
I'm not ready. I can't go back. I don't deserve her. I can't break her heart anymore.
Her voice, even over the crackling of the payphone, was soft and tired. But soothing. I could imagine her face, resembling her voice. There was moonlight shining through the window and over her face,
reflecting in her eyes. I pictured her holding the phone in one hand, and with her other hand she twirled and tangled the cord between her fingers.
"I just- I d-don't-" Fuck.
I leaned my head against the steering wheel, hoping the cold leather against my forehead would help me think straight.
I slammed the phone down. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can't even get a full sentence out and I'm completely sober. She wants me home. I don't know what to do. I went back to my car and threw
Her voice repeated in my head. Her soft, gentle voice. Just come home.
I sat back up. Ok, I'm going home.
I sat on the porch steps, waiting in the dark and cold for Jerry. I fidgeted with the frayed edge of the blanket I wrapped myself in, couldn't help but feel nervous. What would I see in front of me when he arrives? Would he look the same? Sound and feel the same? Or would he be completely different? It had only been a year since I'd seen him, but was that normal for a married couple? Maybe it was,
considering our circumstances. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend that year worried sick about him. And I'd definitely be lying if I said I didn't miss him. It tore me up to see him the way he was before
he left. And it tore me up to not see him at all.
Over the phone, he tried to make it sound like he didn't need help. If only he knew just how much I can see through his bullshit. I mean, he articulated his emotions very well, he wasn't afraid to show or
tell people how he felt. But in the past few years, there were times when he really shut down. Especially when Layne started to lose himself.
I blamed myself a lot for what happened. I thought if I kept myself calm and collected, Jerry maybe wouldn't have left the way he did. I remember I could physically feel my heart breaking when I watched
him storm out of the door. I know he wouldn't have done that had he not been under so much pressure. He couldn't take anymore of it.
I must have fallen asleep on the porch waiting for him. I jumped awake at the sound of him shutting his truck door. I immediately shivered, noticed it was snowing. Through the flakes, I looked up at Jerry. The fading porch light just barely made him visible.
I remember I called Sean a few hours after Jerry left the house and felt my stomach drop when he said he hadn't seen him. Then he called me the next morning saying he turned up at his apartment,
hungover and soaking wet from the rain. He put Jer on the phone, he told me he was sorry and he was going to leave for a while. Then he told me he loved me and hung up. He didn't let me get a word in.
I was relieved that he was ok. But I was scared, too. And even still, I wasn't sure what of.
"Have you been out here this whole time?" He took a few steps toward me.
I jumped up to my feet and nearly tackled him to the ground. He lifted me up off the ground into his arms. I squeezed as hard as I could, needing to feel him to make sure he was real and that he was ok. I breathed in his scent, the usual old spice and tobacco.
"Come on." He held me close to him and carried me inside.
"I missed you," He whispered into my hair and hugged me tight. "I'm sorry for everything."
I don't know what came over me but I just couldn't let go. I felt a lump in my throat and I didn't bother holding it back, he couldn't see me cry anyway. Not with my face buried deep in his jacket. I could
barely breathe but I didn't care.
He set me down and I grabbed his face before I could even put my feet on the ground. I've been waiting for those words.
"What took you so long?" I could barely get it out, I choked through the words.
I didn't want to go back to that.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. He said it but why didn't it feel like enough? In the months before he left, I spent more nights alone in bed than I did with him next to me, where he was supposed to be. He
was somewhere else, doing God knows what at God knows where. There were days where I'd be worried sick about him, only for him to show up drunk later that night.
"God, I missed you." She whispered, her voice just barely audible in the quiet of the house.
She didn't let go for a long time, and I just let her. She had to be freezing. I could feel the sting of her cold fingers against my neck as she held onto me. I shut the door behind us with my foot and felt the
warmth of the house envelop us. When I set her down, she pulled away and looked at me. I saw my wife for the first time in a year. And she looked the same. Did I think she'd be different?
"You ok?" Her voice was small, but I could sense her concern.
Her cheeks were red and cold. I didn't even realize I was touching her face until she leaned into my hand. Flecks of white snow dotted her dark curls and I wiped one away from her eyebrow. Even in the
cold winter, the freckles spread across her face were still prominent. Like a beam of sunlight always followed her. I just stared. I felt like a little kid, gawking at a beautiful girl.
I snapped out of whatever trance I was in, just enough to nod and reassure her.
I traced my fingers over his face, his stubble. I smiled to myself, realizing his goatee was gone. He knew I hated it.
"I like this." I told him while holding his jaw.
He chuckled. "Yeah. I know."
baratheonpilled
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