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sheepispink · 7 days

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I’m writing ch3 guys.. 😈😈😈😈😈😈

A Pearl Of Your Own (2/2)

Part 1

Part of the A Pearl Series

As much as you wanted to pretend he was just tired, the permanent burn that was left on your heart seemed to sting every day. The first time you felt the worst of it was the morning after, when he pretended to fuss over you. Everything was so obvious now, you couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it before. Some would say it was removing the rose-coloured glasses from your life, except this was permanent and something you wished you could force back.

For once in your life, you were actually angry that you hadn’t woken up early. Even more so, you were angry that he he woke up before you. If anything was a first, that was. You used to love when he woke up before you because the feeling of his warmth surrounding you as you blinked the depths of sleep away was incomparable. Now you just shiver at his voice, scared of his words hurting you more than they already have.

He had seen the fresh tear stains, newer than the last he’d seen, eyebrows furrowing when he sees your eyes flutter open. Such gentle hands for a person with such cruel words to say. Even if they were so calloused, they cupped your cheeks with such care and love, something you've longed for months.“Hey, love, what happened? Who did this to you?”

You

You did it.

The words claw at your throat to be released, some part of your head seeking vengeance for your failing heart. You wanted to yell it—you wanted to scream, shout, sob some more, and then be comforted all over again. You wanted to be told you overthought it all, and he really was tired, but the thought of that possibility just kept running away—like a dog chasing their tail. Useless.

Even so, you’ve always been determined and strong; you won’t let petty things take you down so quickly. Your love for him overrides anything you feel, even if that is a bit dangerous to yourself. It’s alright; every couple fights, right?

The next few mornings you spend cheerily pushing yourself to be better to him, to be better for him. It’s your last hope, and you’re hanging on a loose thread. With both hands gripping on and legs dancing above heartbreak’s jaws, you attempt to climb. But there is one small lie that you tell yourself: distancing yourself is so he can get a break from you; he needs to focus on relaxing. It’s definitely not because of the small seed of fear buried in your heart from those eavesdropped words.

He doesn’t seem as tired anymore, probably because you leave the bed as soon as he falls asleep. After finding out he can’t stand sleeping with even the slightest touch from you, the mere thought of causing him to go through that makes you sick to your stomach. So, every night, you force yourself up and drag your drained mind and body downstairs, settling on the couch. He falls for it every time, especially since he only ever finds you cooking breakfast; he just thinks you always get up early. There’s that, but also the fact that he doesn’t care enough to dig deeper or question why you always have those dark circles under your eyes. You’ve also gotten used to just leaving the house multiple times a day. The neighbour needs help? You’re gone. One grocery is missing that you don’t even need for dinner? You’re already at the nearest store. You believe you’re doing him a favour, realising he never gets alone time in the house as you’re always there. Why must you burden his life so much? You should help him out by leaving him alone.

It’s early one morning as you cook blueberry pancakes, a staple dish that he would always make for you. It was one of the only dishes he could make, and damn, he always made it exceptional. You’d smile a loopy grin as you watched him cook, mentally noting to brag to your friends later about the whipped cream love heart on your plate and the fact he posted it on every social he had. You felt like the most special person in the world then, especially when he’d playfully pop blueberries in your mouth until your cheeks were puffy like a chipmunk. He’d chuckle at your embarrassment before kissing you and serving you your dish for the morning.

Now you stand in the lone kitchen, flipping the dull pancake as you hum quietly to yourself. The blueberries just make the pancakes look mouldy , you think, pulling a small disgusted face as you plate them up. You’ve changed a lot in the span of the past three months. Sure, work had been hitting you hard with demands needing to be met and coming home with no food available or someone to listen to your stress, but something shifted in you entirely. You ask Leon how he finds his food, his freshly ironed clothes, the new products you bought for the bathroom, and especially his day. Like a game of cluedo, you narrow everything down as you try to figure out how to be the best for him. How to make him love you again.

He sits at the kitchen island again, the porcelain plate squeaking against the table as you slide it gently over to him. Stacked with pancakes and a small dollop of whipped cream, which took 30 days to finally get right. You watch as he takes a bite, popping it into his mouth after you eat your own.

“So..? Did I finally get it right?”

You say with a small laugh, a teasing smile on your face, to cover up your desperate need to know if you had succeeded.

“Can you stop interrogating me every day about whatever you do? It’s fine, okay? It’s never been any damn different; I dont see the big deal.”

Of course he knows what you do is different every day, but he doesnt care—not even in the slightest. No, that’s why he’s so stern with you; his voice is harsh, and his eyebrows furrow in exasperation at your question.

“I.. Leon- I was just trying to get some feedback.. I only wanted to make it better for you and for both of us.”

It wasn’t just about the blueberry pancakes now; it was everything. Everything you had ever tried was to better yourself for his sake, for his livelihood, and for his happiness.

“Well, can you stop? It’s really fucking annoying having to answer your stupid questions every day because you’re too insecure.”

He huffs, swallowing down another bite of the pancakes as he glares at you, not even hesitating at the hurt expression that slowly forms. You pause for a moment; the last time you two had an argument had to be well over a year ago. Maybe even two. Unsure and a little bit taken aback, you steady yourself.

“Leon- i understand work has been stressing you, but i’m just trying-“

“Work? Thats what you think this is about? Maybe you are just stupid or too far into your ego to realise maybe you are the problem.” A loud scoff and the clatter of cutlery is heard, almost laughing at the sheer stupidity you had for trying to shift the blame onto his work.

“I am trying to actually be understanding, i’m sorry if i annoyed you but Leon- there is no need to put me down like that.” Hate grows in your heart. Hatred for how your voice cracks, how your breath shakes, and your chest feels tighter. Yet you have no hate for him.

“You think you’re being understanding.” He laughs at your pitiful expression, thick with a mocking tone, as he says the words. “I can’t believe it. You actually think that. If you can get one thing through your insecure mind, know that you don’t understand anything about me. You never have. Hah.. ever since that night where I almost fucking choked you.” He remarks, his expression turning sour at the mere thought of that night. Not because of the pain he caused, but because of pain he felt.

It’s ironic now because you really can’t understand what he’s talking about. You’re so far out of the loop that you can’t even piece it together.

“I’ve been trying to ask you—to help you. I want to be there for you-“

“Yeah, as if. You know, on that night, I really thought that you might just understand, unlike anyone else has. I was stupid enough to even think that. You just told me your same stupid reassurances; I should’ve kept my hands on your throat a little longer that day. I wish it scared you off and out of my life.”

You’re deadly silent, your mind is not thinking thoughts, and your voice is dying out all the same. Everything feels so blank: your emotions, your mind, the atmosphere—his heart. It’s blank; the love is just gone. You wish you had more time to mourn it before even attempting to resuscitate it. You can’t, because that died long ago and only now has your stupid head caught up with everything thats happening.

You’re frozen in place as he gets up from his chair, the plates landing in the sink with a horrible clatter.

“You’re not what i wanted. I shouldn’t have expected things you could never reach.” He mutters it out, not even caring enough to face you as he says it, walking back upstairs. Now alone again in that kitchen, water is dripping onto the floor from your own eyes. Another faulty leak that you hadn’t even realised until now, when you’re resigned to yourself once more.

That day echoes constantly in your mind, relived every night with different words, each time becoming more hurtful. Your heart wishes he could reassure you of these terrors like you did with him. His cruel sayings are a dagger that twists through your chest each day; they go unresolved, because for once in your wilting relationship, he didn’t apologise. No, he barely even regret what he did. Theres not a smidge of chance that you can even fix it— you already have tried apologising, only to be met by an annoyed look. He walks past you every morning after that, not a word between you both as you finally stop trying to ‘help’ him.

If being strangers in your own home was an award, you’d receive a standing ovation for the weeks that follow. Every sense of his seems to avoid you like the plague, his sight moving upon seeing you to the point where he walks past you, on purpose. A year ago, he would’ve woken up and wrapped his arms around your waist at the smell of his favourite breakfast; now he only wakes up later on purpose just to eat something else in front of you. Speaking of that, he loved to taste your food, standing nearby to try everything you cooked for him. Now he neither compliments nor insults your cooking, staying quiet as he eats. Cries fall on deaf ears at night as you beg him to stop leaving so often and returning days later. You can’t stand not knowing where he is, especially if it’s for an extended period. You need him, you plead, but he just carries on reading a mission report. Finally, he still doesnt touch you anymore, having not done so since the day he found fresh tears on your cheeks in the morning. Even as you ask politely and quietly, he is completely indifferent to you, walking back to the bedroom after you ask simply for a movie together on the couch that could just as well be new with how little either of you spend time.

It’s been a month since the argument, and different is how you’d finally describe him. You knew this before, but you wouldn’t dare say it because you’re still the same you, and you had refused to believe he wasn’t still yours. A small part of you holds onto this now, but as you both lay in bed and you breakdown, begging him to just tell you what you can do better for him, you realise the truth.

‘That’s the issue’ he tells you, turning his head away from the soaked pillows with an exasperated look. He doesn’t tell you about the feeling of a pearl in your head, rolling around every night shimmering terrors that should’ve ended.

‘You never change; you’re so consistent’. Thats what he explains, claiming you don’t understand the pain he feels when everything starts to shift and you can’t even control it. When your life flips, twists and shatters but doesnt rebuild.

Though, now you see that orb shimmer every time you close your eyes. You don’t understand he says, and you hadn’t before. But that didn’t mean he had to make you understand now.

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