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Kellin

At this point, I'm not sure whether to be worried or pissed off.

Where the fuck is he?

He's been gone all day and it's getting dark. I've called twice now. It's not fair of him to leave me in the dark like this.

What if he got into an accident or something? What if he's hurt? Should I call the hospital? Should I go out and look for him?

I want to call Jenna, ask if she's seen him, but I don't want to worry her or embarrass myself because I'm probably overreacting.

I take a deep breath to ground myself.

I'm catastrophising. He's probably fine. Who knows, maybe in his search for a job, he got hired on the spot and he's working. Yeah, that's probably right. He's probably working, that's why he's not answering my calls.

My stomach grumbles in hunger and then I'm pissed off all over again.

He couldn't have at least texted me? What is with him lately? He used to text me before he even entered his own house but now he disappears and doesn't think to let me know if he's okay?

He's been different since he saw Carter, since I lost my shit at him and made him sleep on the sofa. Actually he's been off for a lot longer, but it was understandable after everything that happened with Carter and after he lost his uncle. Now it just feels uncalled for.

But maybe he's mad at me. Maybe he's still upset that I yelled at him. Maybe he's upset that I've been snappy lately. I wouldn't blame him, I've been a mess.

But I know Vic, I've known Vic for a long time, he's not one to hold a grudge, at least not against me.

Having him so distant, so emotionally absent, so disinterested in me is so unnatural and it's scaring the shit out of me. I hope I haven't driven him away.

My phone suddenly rings and I near jump out of my skin. I fumble for it and am relieved when I see Vic's name on the screen.

I answer it quickly and put it to my ear.

"Vic, where are you?" I ask worried.

"Hey baby, I need you to come pick me up, please, baby." he mumbles.

"Vic, are you okay?" I ask worried.

"I am great. But I'm being cut off and I need a ride." he chirps and then it clicks.

"Cut off? Are you drunk?" I screech.

"A little. It was an accident." he chuckles.

"Where are you?" I snap.

"This place, it's called Gunn's. Like a boom boom gun. But spelt different, you know?" he slurs.

"Yeah, I know the place." I sigh, remembering the bar I went to last year and had my first drink. "I'll be there soon. Just sit tight."

I hang up the phone and put my head in my hands. I can't go to a fucking bar.

I look down at my phone and consider calling Jenna, Mike or even Tony, but I feel stupid. I don't want to bother them because I'm weak and can't handle myself.

I take another breath and decide to suck it up before heading off to get my husband.

I struggle to focus as I'm driving. There's this huge part of me that is furious. He left me at home all day worried sick about him! It would have taken two seconds just to text me.

But another part of me can't help but to just simply love him. At least he's safe and at least he's responsible enough to call me instead of driving home.

Maybe he didn't tell me he was having a drink because he didn't want to trigger me, or he felt guilty about it. I don't want him to feel like he can't have a drink because I can't. I don't know. Maybe this is my fault.

My heartrate speeds up as I pull up in the parking lot of Gunn's. I kill the engine and look to the door. I can feel my palms sweating against the steering wheel as my fingers grip it tightly.

I take another breath. I'm okay. I know that. I just need to relax.

I pull out my phone and text Vic, letting him know that I'm out the front.

But a painful five minutes go by and he still hasn't exited the building. I check my phone and he hasn't even read the text.

Starting to panic a little, I call him. But it rings out.

I can't go in there. But I've already been sitting here for way too long.

I wait another five minutes and call him three more times but it seems pointless. For whatever reason, he's not picking up his phone.

I look back at the bar and swallow the lump building in my throat.

"I can do this." I mutter, but I'm only trying to convince myself.

I pop open the car door and hesitantly get out. I focus on the sting of the cold night air, trying to distract myself with anything and everything as I approach the bar.

I yank open the door, determined to get in and get out, but as soon as the smell of alcohol hits my senses, I come to a sudden halt.

I freeze, as I'm bombarded with a clusterfuck of childhood trauma and recollections of last year.

I want to collapse to the floor. I want to drown out everything with an infinite amount of shots. I want to self-destruct until I'm catatonic.

But I don't do any of those things, because I spot my husband, hunched over the bar, seemingly passed out, his fist still tightly wrapped around the neck of a drink.

I find myself walking, physically drawn to him while my mind is still stuck in yesteryear.

It's a woman's voice that snaps me out of my scarring nostalgia.

"Hey, I remember you. Redbull and vodka, right?" the bartender asks.

She's smiling sweetly at me but I feel as though she's just assaulted me. I look to her and then to the bottles of spirits stacked up behind her.

Maybe I could just have one.

The familiar thought is like a clash of cymbals awaking me from my addiction.

"No, not today." I say firmly, talking to myself more than anything.

I place my hand on Vic's shoulder, shaking him awake. He lifts his head confused but a loving smile creeps onto his cheeks as he squints at me.

"Oh hey, it's you." he mumbles drunkenly.

Seeing him so blissfully out of it makes me jealous and I hate the thought, I hate him for that thought.

"Are you okay?" I ask him softly.

"Yup, I'm great, now that you're here."

He grabs my hand from his shoulder and kisses it sloppily.

"Come on, let's go." I say coldly, pulling him off the bar stool.

He loses his balance as his feet hit the ground and he falls right into me.

"Upsy daisy." he slurs.

He grabs the bar for support and I hold him up, steadying him. I look him over now that I have the chance. He's sweating profusely and his eyes are barely open. I'm beyond pissed at him right now, but my worry trumps that. I've never seen him this drunk before.

"How much has he had to drink?" I ask the woman who served him the alcohol.

She tilts her head gesturing to a collection of bottles and empty glasses. There'd have to be at least ten but I don't stick around to count.

"I cut him off about twenty minutes ago after he threw up." she explains. "I haven't seen someone drink like that since," she pauses as her eyebrows raise. "Well, since you were here last."

I sigh stressed and take Vic's arm, putting it around my shoulder so I can hold him up.

"Okay, let's get you home." I frown.

I finally leave the bar which should be a relief, but Vic reeks of liquor so it doesn't make much difference.

I help him into the car and buckle him up before I go around to the drivers side and restart the engine.

"Are you okay?" I ask Vic softly as I pull away from the curb.

"Yeah, I'm good." he smiles widely, resting his head against the window and closing his eyes.

"You drank a lot." I point out.

"I know! But I was celebrating!" he exclaims.

"Celebrating what?"

"I got a job, sort of, almost." he mumbles.

"Wait, really? Where?" I ask surprised.

"Gunn's!" he chirps.

My heart sinks a little. I don't know how to feel about my husband working at a bar. But I push that from my head because it's not important right now.

"That's great, babe." I sigh softly.

"I'm not useless." he mumbles, as he closes his eyes, resting against the window. 

"I know that." I frown. "I've never said you were useless."

"But sometimes I'm useless." he murmurs.

"You're not, Vic. You're never useless." I assure him.

He stays quiet for the rest of the drive and I assume he's fallen asleep. When I arrive home, I turn off the car then go around the passenger side. I unbuckle Vic's seatbelt which causes him to stir awake.

"Hey," he mumbles.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" I coo.

"Sleepy." He says blinking at me.

"Okay, let's get you to bed." I suggest, taking his arm and pulling him out of the car.

He sways unstably, so I put his arm back around my neck and help him to the front door. The smell of beer and whiskey wafting off of him is practically torturous.

"Is it okay if we brush your teeth, babe? You did throw up." I ask hopefully.

"M'yeah, okay." he slurs.

The stairs is a challenge, but once we finally make it up them, I take him straight to the bathroom. He grabs the basin for support and I take his toothbrush and squeeze some toothpaste onto it. I hand him his toothbrush and he starts brushing his teeth.

He stares at my reflection in the mirror and I stare back at him.

"You're so beautiful." he mumbles through a mouthful of toothpaste.

I can't help but to laugh.

"So are you." I smile, kissing his cheek gently and resting my head against his shoulder.

He spits his toothpaste into the sink when he's done then rinses his mouth out. I help him clean himself up then I lead him to bed. I try to take his shirt off but he's quick to push me away.

"No, don't do that." he murmurs, falling onto his pillow.

"You need to get ready for bed." I tell him gently, trying to lift his shirt up again but he pushes me back, harder this time.

"Kellin, I said no." he snaps sternly.

I look at him confused and concerned, feeling a little taken aback.

"Okay," I say softly.

He's quick to kick his shoes off then he rolls over so he's facing away from me. I pull the covers over him then I go around to the other side of the bed. I'm starving but I just want to make sure he's okay first.

I lay down next to him staring at his blank expression that's staring back at me.

"What?" He mumbles.

"Nothing, I just love you." I whisper back.

He frowns and sighs.

"You shouldn't." he murmurs.

"What?" I say confused. "I shouldn't love you?"

He completely ignores me and just closes his eyes. 

I sigh frustrated and kiss his forehead.

"Sleep well. I love you." I say firmly.

He doesn't acknowledge me again so I decide to get up and go get something to eat. I sit at the table, absentmindedly scooping cereal as I think about my husband who hopefully lays asleep upstairs.

I think about what he just said to me, his response to my admission of love, and I try to think back to the last time that he repeated my words back to me. But I can't. It's been so long that I can't even pinpoint the last time he told me he loves me.

I feel sick to my stomach as I begin to question everything.

But I take a moment to calm myself and reassure myself. He's been a little off lately, he's tired. Hopefully the alcohol will help him sleep and he'll be back on his feet tomorrow, or at least after his hangover dies down.

And with that false hope and my now full stomach, I make my way back to bed to pass out next to my passed out husband.

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