I get up from my seat and walk my plate over to the sink. “I have to get going.”
She huffs loudly. “Really?” she snaps. “We aren’t going to do anything?”
“I have work to do.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t you have work?” I ask, because I don’t think she knows I know she lost her job. I don’t even think she’s been looking for another one.
Her body tenses up, and she looks down at her plate. “Yeah,” she mumbles.
I’m still shocked she hasn’t said anything to me about losing her job. We’ve been best friends for years, and she used to tell me everything. Is she still ashamed? Or does she think I’ll judge her? My mind races, but honestly, I can’t worry about it with everything going on in my life.
I pull up to my house, my heart pounding as dread creeps in. I didn’t expect Zayn to be home. My anxiety heightens as the garage door slowly opens. I was counting on him being at the gym or at work. My palms grow sweaty as I grip the steering wheel. I doubt he’ll say anything, which sometimes would be nice, but right now I’m sick of the silence and the wondering. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the knot in my stomach only tightens.
I slowly shut the door behind me as I walk in. Zayn stands in the kitchen, arms crossed with a smug look on his face. “Where the hell have you been?”
One thing about us is we never talked to each other like that. He’s becoming meaner, and I don’t understand why. I’m his wife, not someone he can walk all over. I’ve tried so hard not to give him the same treatment, but how long should I sit here and take it?
“It’s not like you care,” I say as I storm past him toward the stairs, almost tripping over my feet. Even though I hate the silence, arguing is even worse.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he yells.
I freeze at the foot of the stairs. My eyes narrow at him. “You tell me, Zayn.”
He throws his head back. “Don’t tell me this has to do with you thinking I’m cheating?”
I cross my arms. “Are you?”
“Jesus Christ. No. How many times do I have to tell you?” He steps closer, his jaw set tight.
“Then what is it?”
“What is it?” he shouts.
“Something is going on. What is it?”
“Fuck,” he snaps. “Nothing. You just keep making up all these crazy stories in your head.”
My eyes sting with tears I’m holding back. “I’m not crazy, Zayn,” I shout. I clench my fists at my sides, my heart aching. “Do you even hear yourself? The way you talk to me, the way you look at me... it’s like you don’t even love me anymore.”
I’m not one to yell like this or act this way, but I can only take so much. Ashley’s words sink deeper than they did last night. Maybe I need to act cool so I can see if he slips up. But fuck, I think I’ve been acting more than cool this whole time. Yeah, we fought a little before, but nothing like this. Everything keeps escalating.
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Holy shit, Vi. You’re killing me.”
I catch my breath. “I’m killing you. Have you seriously not noticed how you’ve been toward me?” I take a few steps closer to him.
He crosses his arms. “How?”
My mouth drops open. “You go out all weekend. Ignore my calls and texts, only for you to come home with dread across your face, as if I’m ruining your life.” My throat tightens at those words. Words I never thought I would be saying.
He throws his hands up. “There you go, making more shit up.”
“And there you go, bypassing everything I say.”
“It doesn’t matter what I say, you don’t believe me.”
“You’re right,” I say, and his head snaps up, eyeing me in surprise. “It doesn’t matter what you say, because your actions don’t match your words.”
