He came back around two, reeking of alcohol and grinning.
“So, honey, what’d you do?” I said nonchalantly, like I hadn’t been crying my eyes out for the past five hours.
“Baseball game,” he slurred. “And I drank a little…”
“I’m sure,” I muttered sarcastically. He put his arm around me.
“I love you, honey.”
“Rob, go to bed. I hate you when you’re drunk.”
“You…hate me?” he said slowly.
“Right now, definitely.” And any other time you have an affair..
“Well, I love you.” He grinned and slept with his arms around me.
I didn’t move the whole night, scared he would pull away.
Of course I didn’t hate him when he was drunk. I didn’t hate him ever. I wanted him, no, needed him to be there…but he never was.
Except for now. I clutched his arms and fell asleep still tense with stress, anger and worry.