One Day At A Time - A Joseph Quinn One-Shot

Eight years. That's how long you have been with your husband, married for the last three. You had spent years pushing your feelings down your throat and feeling like a broken record from repeating yourself all the time with no change. You were exhausted with having one-sided conversations about your feelings. Nothing seemed to stick with him. If you had interests, to him, they were obsessions. If you wanted to go out on a Saturday night with your friends, you were an alcoholic. If you were upset, it was an inconvenience that earned eye rolls as he asked, what now? No matter how many times you sat down to try to be civil and explain how he made you feel, it was either dismissed or he would be better for a week or two and then go right back to his usual self. This ongoing cycle had gotten old, and you decided enough was enough. You sat him down and said you were done; you couldn't take anymore. You knew deep down it was the right decision, but it still hurt. You spent eight years with him after all – since you were nineteen. You didn't know how to exist without him, how to be single. So much had changed in dating life since you had met him; it felt like you were suddenly dropped into deep water in which the waves were a little too high. How do you handle this? Beginning the divorce process was stressful enough and then you had to worry about the shit show of a dating pool that existed these days on top of it. One step at a time, you told yourself. One worry at a time. Easier said than done.

You had agreed to let your soon-to-be ex-husband keep the house. He had paid for most of the renovations that had been done since buying it, so you felt it was only fair and you preferred a fresh start. The two of you didn't have children together so there wasn't much to sort out other than that. You found an apartment that was just enough for you. You didn't need much; the newfound space you had was quite refreshing, but your mind also struggled with the new sense of loneliness as well. You knew things would get better; it was just a big adjustment. After a Saturday afternoon of going through your things and packing at the house, you decided you needed a break, and perhaps a few drinks to relax your rushing mind and crushed spirit. You grabbed what you had packed so far and stacked it in the trunk of your car, heading towards your favorite bar, one you frequented when you were in the particular mood to not pay any mind to your husband's "alcoholic" comments and enjoy some time with your friends.

You pulled into the only remaining parking space left. Hands still on the wheel, you shut your eyes and sighed. I can do this. You tried reassuring yourself on occasion, but it didn't help much; it just felt like you were lying to yourself. You opened your eyes, grabbed your purse, and headed inside. You found a seat at the bar and were greeted by Sam, the bartender that was always here when you were in the past.

"How's it going? Been a while."

"Hey, Sam," you replied to him a bit dryly, your eyes looking down at the bar top. He sensed you weren't yourself. You wouldn't consider Sam a close friend, but close enough. You'd only known him from going there, but he had enough conversations with you over the bar that he could tell things were off with you, and from prior drunken nights and talks, he was very much aware of your home issues you'd had. He had been a set of ears when you needed them, even though he didn't have to. It was a bit embarrassing for you. He dealt with so many drunk people on a daily basis; your problems were probably the last thing he wanted to deal with, but he listened and supported nonetheless, and that's more than you could have ever asked for.

"You seem down. You good?"

"I left him," was all you could force out in monotone, finally looking up from the bar to his face. His eyebrows raised and eyes widened slightly at the realization of what you'd just said.

"Tequila sunrise coming right up," he said as he turned without missing a beat to go mix your favorite drink, knowing you needed the alcohol in your system sooner rather than later. He really did get you most of the time.