Night Changes

19

The weekend passed, unfortunately, much like the week.  And the following week matched in a similar pattern.  It had become a relentless, numbing repetition.

Harry had been called into a meeting the following Saturday, and as much as I was disappointed, I didn’t say anything. I watched silently as he disappeared into the bathroom, listened while he showered, and quietly observed him as he dressed. I said nothing as he leaned down and kissed my forehead, before leaving the room, the sound of the front door closing minutes later.

He came home just before dinner, which I was surprised. I had dinner made, although had already wrapped his up and put it in the microwave. It had started this routine mid week, and just assumed it would continue.

I noticed the quizzical look when he came home, finding me placing my own dishes in the sink, already finished.

“I didn’t think you’d be home.” I said without emotion.

“I am,” he stated, before coming into the kitchen and pushing the buttons on the microwave.

We watched TV in silence as he ate, just as we had done all week. Our new, strange, unpleasant routine. Taking his own dishes into the kitchen, he placed them in the sink before escaping into the bathroom.  Yet again, I followed, picking up after him as I had all week.

He emerged a long while later, pajama pants and tshirt covering his body, his hair damp, a darker, deep brown that touched his collar. He retrieved his briefcase, before sitting at the small kitchen table, pulling out folders and papers, setting himself down to do yet even more work.

I hated this. I hated everything about our life here in New York. This was not supposed to be what our life was like. This wasn’t us. Harry was never this work obsessed, distant person. I was never this quiet, silent woman who never said what was on her mind.

I wanted to talk to him, to tell him how I was feeling. I wanted to remind him that I was still here, that I loved him and missed him. I wanted to ask him where my boyfriend went, and who this stranger was sitting at the table, looking a hell of a lot like him.

But I didn’t. For some reason, I couldn’t muster the courage, or the fight. I wanted to, but I just……didn’t.

Instead I sat in the living room, my feet on the table, my hands pressed together between my thighs. My eyes were on the TV, but I didn’t take any of it in, whatever was on the screen. My mind was blank. Not thinking of the TV, or the city, or of anything. Just blank.

Harrys phone rang just after seven, causing him to straighten from his hunched position at the table, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.  He glanced at the screen, before groaning with annoyance.

“Yes, Niall?” he called through the phone.  “No.  Because Im working. Well, that doesn’t really apply to everyone. You don’t need me to come along, you’re perfectly fine to go out on your own.”  Harry huffed, reaching up to rub his forehead roughly. “Niall, I said Im busy!” he shouted finally. “Well, you aren’t listening to me, so I have to yell. I gotta go. Goodbye.”