Unsteady (COMPLETED)

THREE

Now - Michael

"Hurry the fuck up, Ella!" I scream through the open window of my beat up Chevy truck, followed by a loud honk of the horn.

I watch her and our son scurry out of the house. I have to roll my eyes when I see her walk back to the door to lock it. She's always forgetting to do that.

"You could be a little patient, Mike." She says after she swings the door open.

"Whatever," I mumble, tapping my fingers along the steering wheel. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ella help Tyler into the truck. The boy isn't helpless, but she's always there helping him with every little thing she can. Once he's buckled in, she hops into her seat and closes the door.

I don't bother waiting for the click of the seat belt before slamming the old truck into drive. The brakes squeal a little as I release them and press onto the gas pedal, begging for some kind of maintenance that I can't be bothered to give.

"You can stop at the store on the way to the school, I have enough for a small bottle of Tylenol." She says to me after a few moments of silence.

"'Kay," I reply simply.

"I work until eleven tonight, so you will have to pick up Tyler after school." She says and I can feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of my face. "Please don't forget again."

I roll my eyes. "I won't forget my own fucking son." I spit at her. "I'll be there to get him after work."

"Please just...be on time." She whispers before turning her head to look out the window.

Scratching the back of my neck, I sigh. "I will, Ella. Don't worry." I tell her, trying to reassure her. I bring my hand to her knee, but she pushes me away.

"I can't." She whispers so quietly that I almost don't hear her. But I do, and those two words send a knife through my heart.

*****

I pull into a parking spot in front of the call centre Ella has been working at for the past four years. Putting the truck into park, I turn to my wife and watch her put her hair into a messy bun.

"I don't need you to pick me up tonight." She says as she wraps the elastic around her hair over and over again. "I will get a ride from Taylor."

"Fine," I reply. "What do you want me to do for dinner?"

"There is some leftover spaghetti in the fridge. Just heat that up for you and Tyler." She says.

An awkward silence fills the truck for a few moments, neither of us able to say the words on the tip of our tongues. I watch as Ella avoids looking at me with all her might. She never wants to look at me anymore.

"Ella..." I start, but I'm unable to form the words that I want to say.

Finally, my wife looks at me with those beautiful green eyes that lured me in fifteen years ago. To this day, they take my breath away. "I will see you tonight." She says, giving me a fake smile.

Without thinking, I grab her arm and pull her onto my lap. She releases a small squeak of surprise, before biting her lip and looking deep into my eyes for an explanation.

But, I can't offer her one. So instead, I lean forward and plant a short but lingering kiss to her soft, plump lips, and then another kiss to her forehead, before letting her go.

"I know I don't say it a lot, but I love you, Ella," I say as I watch her open the truck door to leave.

She turns back to me, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion for a moment, and then nods her head. "I love you too, Mike." She says. Then she hops out of the truck and hurries inside the building.

Once she's inside, I put the truck in reverse and hurry off to work.

*****

My head is still pounding despite the five Tylenol that I swallowed an hour ago - the joys of my weekend binge. I find myself unable to concentrate on my job and making mistakes, which turns my simple headache into a full-on migraine.

Groaning in frustration, I wipe my sweaty face with my arm and lean against the wall I am currently supposed to be drywalling.

"Fuck," I mumble to myself as I shakily pull a small flask of whiskey out of my pocket. My hands can't open it fast enough and I find myself chugging the whole thing back without flinching.

"Travers!" A deep voice bellows from behind me.

"Yeah, boss?" I yell back as I turn towards him.

He shakes his head when his eyes land on me. "You look like shit, Travers," Gerald says.

"Thanks," I mutter before picking up my measuring tape and trying to work. "What's up?"

"Mike," He pauses and coughs before continuing. "You're done."

I drop the measuring tape before turning to him. "What?" I say with disbelief.

"I can't keep you like this." He replies, gesturing towards me with his hands. "Half the time you are hungover. The rest of the time you are drunk. You're fucking up more than you are putting out good work. And I know you are capable of doing good work, Mike.

"I just can't keep you. If you smarten up and straighten yourself up, give me a call. I'll pay you for the rest of the week, but don't bother coming in. Good luck, Mike." He says before turning on his heel to exit the house.

"But...but I need this job, Gerald! I have a kid. I need to put a roof over his head and food in his mouth. I can't do that without this job. Please, please don't do this." I beg, successfully making him stop in his tracks.

"Mike, I know this money ain't going to any of that." He says over his shoulder. "I know it's that wife of yours who's killing herself working three jobs."

"Fuck, Gerald, I need this."

"You should have thought about that before."