Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 43

Walking in on John with someone else shouldn't have hurt so much. The clues screamed at him for weeks. His mother-in-law hated him on principle. She'd had big plans for John to marry an heiress. Handsome, John charmed women easily, but his interests in bed fell squarely in August's lap. For the last year, his mother-in-law had been trying to get their marriage annulled. John promised he loved him. 

Not anymore. 

August stumbled backwards out of the master bedroom, heart beating fast. He half fell down the stairs to the pub, ignoring his husband's yells to stop. His body iced over, feeling not processing as he fled.

The bar was busy. A few tried to talk to him, but he waved them off. Unsurprisingly, his husband didn't chase after him into the bar, still naked with a random woman's juices over his skin. August prayed it was some random woman and not one of the many harlots his mother-in-law continued to trot out in front of his husband to tempt him back into the fold. 

His stomach tensed, and bile bubbled at the back of his throat. How long had this been going on?

The world span, and he tilted to the side dangerously. A strong arm grabbed his waist and stopped him from falling. Some reassuring murmurs surrounded him as he got pushed to the bar stools, someone requesting a glass of water. He gripped the bar edge, struggling to breathe easily. The arm didn't leave his waist.

"Easy tiger," an unfamiliar voice teased, his firm body pressing against August to support him. "You're going to knock yourself out acting like that." The deep voice curled protectively around him, intense eyes studying him closely as he trembled. 

"He's taken," warned a regular, side-eying the arm around August. 

"Where's his partner then if he'd like this?" the unfamiliar voice asked, challenge in his voice. Someone was not impressed. The regular shrugged, sipping his beer. 

They knew. The ice ran down August's back and twisted like a knife as another fact of reality crashed down on him. They lived above the bar. The men, the bored fucking men who had nothing to do but drink all day and watch mindlessly, knew that his husband was fucking some woman, and none of them said anything. 

"I need to leave," August tried to stand, but more than one pair of hands stopped him. A glass of water appeared in front of him. Lisa, the bartender, gave him a pitying expression. She knew it.

"Not when you're doing your best Bambi impression," the stranger declared, several grunts from regulars agreeing as if they'd forgotten why he was in this state.

"Fuck you," August glared. "You don't know me."

The stranger lifted an eyebrow. Someone in the background whistled, amused. The fuckers wanted the drama. They wanted a screaming row between August and his husband, with a random man inserting himself between them. Preferably with the shriek of the bitch who was fucking his husband in their marriage bed. The amount of betrayal rolling through him burned. He thought some of these men were his friends. 

"You remind me of one of my friends. Clever chap, from around here, so your accents are almost identical," the stranger said, his arm still not leaving August's waist. "He doesn't curse, though."

"Sounds like a dream," August wheezed, struggling to breathe. The smirks from the regulars scarpped against his skin and soul. He didn't curse much as a rule, but he was about to break every rule in the book about how to behave with decorum. "I've just caught my husband fucking some sket behind my back and would like to get out of here before he can put his pants on to confront me about it. Fuck off, and let me go!"

"Ah," the stranger nodded. "Condolences. Where are you heading to?"

"Why the hell should it matter to you?"