More than anything, I don’t want to start an argument, so instead I shake my head.
He walks right past me, no kiss or anything, and heads for the bedroom. My heart races from holding in what I truly want to say. I bite the inside of my cheek, pushing my frustration down because I know if I say something, it’ll only make things worse. But why does it always have to be me? Why am I the one who has to hold everything together, to set my feelings aside to keep us from falling apart? Why can’t he?
Going out with his friends isn’t such a big deal, but it was the way he told me. Like he didn’t have a thought in mind that we always do date night on Fridays. And then his stupid comment: We do that every week.
No shit, we do that every week. We’ve always made it a priority. It’s our time to connect and focus on us. It keeps our relationship growing. I can’t help but feel I’m the only one that wants this marriage to keep growing.
I let out a sigh and look down at my dress. I look cute and really wanted to wear this out. Instead of moping around here, I decide to text Rya. She’s always down to go out.
Violet: Hey! What are you doing tonight? Want to go get dinner?
Right after I send the text, I kind of regret it. She might drag me out to go clubbing.
Oh well, I feel like doing anything at this point.
Thirty minutes later, Zayn is coming down the stairs as I’m scrolling through Netflix. I haven’t heard back from Rya yet. I’m sitting here in my dress with a frown on my face.
“I’ll be back later,” he says and walks right past me again with no kiss goodbye.
“No kiss?” I yell over my shoulder.
He stops abruptly, turns back around, and leans in and gives me a kiss.
“When do you think you’ll be back?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Do I have a curfew?”
My brows furrow. “No, but it’s considerate to not have me waiting up all night for you.”
What the hell is up with his attitude?
“Then don’t wait up for me,” he says as he steps back.
My eyes go wide, and I shake my head. “Whatever.” I turn back around and face the TV.
I tap my phone and watch it come to life; there are still no messages from Rya. I’m debating whether to call her, unsure if she and Ez have plans tonight. I know they’ve been better since Rya came out and told him what’s been going on. So, I decide against calling in case they’re doing something.
I’m awakened by the sound of the TV. As my eyes adjust to the screen, I realize I never put this movie on. The time on my phone reads one in the morning. I must have fallen asleep, and Netflix kept playing movies. As my eyes drop, I realize that I’m still in my dress. I get up from the couch and head for the bedroom. Is Zayn home? When I realize the bedroom is empty, I call him.
All it does is ring until it goes to voicemail. I end the call and text him.
Violet: Hey when are you coming home?
I strip off my dress, wash my makeup off, and brush my hair out. Rya never texted me back, either. She must have been having a good time with Ez. I’m sure I’ll hear from her in the morning.
After getting myself ready for bed, I slide into my freshly washed sheets. Sometimes freshly washed sheets and pajamas help me sleep better. But as the night goes on, all I do is toss and turn. Anxiousness is crawling beneath my skin, setting my nerves on edge, making it impossible to fall asleep. I grab my phone. It’s three in the morning and Zay isn’t home yet. He has yet to call or text me back. I’ve never wanted to be that kind of wife that calls her husband all night while he’s out with his friends, but this isn’t like him. He’s always told me when he would be home or at least would let me know if he’s staying out later than he thought. He used to have more consideration for me, but recently it seems as if he doesn’t care anymore.
Once again, the rings echo through my ear until it goes to voicemail.
What the fuck?
I scroll through Instagram to see if I see if any of his or his friends stories show what they were doing. But I find nothing. Which is odd because a lot of times his friends will post on their stories. Zay’s not much of a social media guy, which I’m grateful for, but right now it would at least ease my anxiousness knowing he’s at least alive.
I stir as the mattress dips beside me. The rustle of sheets pulls me from sleep. I small sliver of light shines through the blinds as my eyes adjust.
“What time is it?” I ask as I watch Zay slide into bed. I touch the top of my phone screen. Six in the morning.
My eyes shoot up wide. “You’re just getting home?” I ask Zay as heat runs through my body. I check my phone again. Zay never called or texted me back.
