Page 75 of Every Promise Broken

Back when I wasn’t failing.

Shoving the memories back into the box in the closet, I slam the door shut before taking another swig off the bottle. I don’t even feel it as the amber liquid burns a path down my throat. I’m so far past numb, I can’t feel anything even if I tried.

I miss Whit.

God, do I fucking miss him.

I want to see him. Hear his voice. Feel his touch. It’s been so long, too long, since we’ve been together.

Grabbing my phone off the dresser, I unlock it and find his contact, hitting call. It’s late, I shouldn’t call, especially since he hasn’t answered any of the other times I’ve tried, but I’m desperate.

I need to fix this.

Fix us.

I need my husband back. I need to make him feel loved and appreciated. Need to apologize for all the hurt I’ve caused. I need to be a better man for him, because he deserves that.

When voicemail connects, I punch the end call button and try again.

And again.

Then one more time for good measure.

By the time the voicemail picks up for a third time, my blood is boiling, and I can’t fucking take it anymore. I throw the phone across the room, letting out a guttural scream as the device collides with the wall, shattering into a hundred little pieces, just like my life.

Emotions clutch at my chest, strangling me until it feels like I can’t breathe. Dropping to my knees, my hands lying flat on the floor, my shoulders shake as sobs wrack my body.

Fuck.

This can’t be happening.

I lost him. I lost Whit.

I fucked everything up.

He deserves so much better than me, and he finally saw that.

“Fuck!”

I don’t know how long I sit here on the floor, all the hurt pouring out of my body through my eye sockets, but by the time they dry up, I feel hollow. I have to get him back. I have to fix this.

Standing up, I scrub a hand down my face, feeling a new sense of purpose. Taking one final swig from the whiskey, I set it on the dresser before allowing my legs to carry me through the house until I’m in the kitchen. Opening one of the drawers on the island, I find exactly what I’m looking for; a blank piece of paper and a pen. I sit down at the dining room table and I write.

I don’t read back through what I’ve written, I just get it all out. Every last thought and feeling. I lay it all out for him with a plan to deliver it to him by morning.

I can’t lose him.

I’m going to get him back if it’s the last thing I do.

Present Day

There’s a pounding on the front door.

I consider ignoring it.

I consider going into my bedroom and locking the door, climbing under the covers and hiding. It’s something I’ve never done in my life. At least not in my adult life, but fuck if I don’t want to today, because I know exactly who it is, and I know exactly what he’s here for.

Opening the front door and letting him in feels like accepting defeat. It feels like admitting that I’ve lost Whit again, and I don’t know if I can do that.

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