There is a party going on down stairs.
You hear John Newman's 'Blame' blaring on the stereo. You hear snatches of conversation accompanied by drunken laughter and you clench your fists as you stare at your husband, searching in him for the man you married five years ago. You are in your bedroom, having an argument with him. It's all you both have been doing these days.
You don't know when your marriage began to sour.
It could have been a few weeks after marriage when you told him you were expecting or it could have been two years later when he got signed on a premier league team or maybe a year back when he started bringing home women from bars, drunk enough to mistake you for your house maid. You don't remember from when you started wearing long sleeves and closed collars to hide those scars, either.
Your arguments have always been explosive and your friends have loved watching both of you argue and then make up very soon. Every argument had left your relationship stronger. But these days, you feel, every argument is tearing your marriage apart, shredding it into pieces that cannot be sewn back together. And you fear what would happen when every stitch has become undone.
And when you look at him, all you can see is the man he vowed he would never become. And it breaks your heart for you long for the kind, shy boy you are still in love with and not the monster that is standing before you.
His dark eyes burn with fury, and he yells, I have every right to entertain a guest.
You close your eyes, stopping the tears from running down. You know how he entertains them. You wonder, if he uses your bed when you are away at work or the one in your guest room. The air is oppressive, wanting to crush you.
You suddenly feel tired. Tired of fighting for his attention. Tired of balancing him and your well paying desk job. Tired of being his puppet.
Tired of pretending that everything is alright behind closed doors.
You say in defeat, I want to quit.
The music stops all of a sudden, and you watch surprise flit across his face and he looks at you, blankly. You want him to roar. Rage that you are meant to be with him. Apologize. Instead, he says, Go, shower. You look like crap.
He doesn't mention when you take a longer than necessary shower and when you come down, the party is broken up and you see him exchanging a long kiss with one of the women. You ignore the stab of pain. He takes one look at you and nods his head towards the dirty plates and empty glasses.
Fifteen minutes later, you are cleaning up your party floor, and you hear him in the living room, watching yesterday's match being re - telecast at full volume. You are wiping the hardwood floor when you hear the front door opening and you are suddenly hugged by small arms. Your best friend stands at the doorway, a sad smile on her face. With a vicious glare towards the living room, she leaves.
You look down into your husband's eyes staring up from your four year old daughter's face.
And you know the reason you can't quit.
...
