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You hated day-offs, holidays and breaks. You’d rather just work yourself to death.
It’d been a quiet day, for the most part. Though you didn’t actually know if something had happened outside since you’d barely left your room. It was one of those days where you knew the… type of quiet it was going to be before the day had even really started.
Silence had many forms, you’d known it since childhood. Silence was rarely peaceful for you. Instead, it felt deafening, suffocating. Like an animal that gnaws on your ears until it crushes your whole head in its jaws.
You took off your earphones and put your phone to charge. Your tummy rumbled, prompting you to try to rub away the hunger. You didn’t bother checking the time, but you could guess it was late. The house was always dark anyway. The curtains shunned the sun. He hated when you tried to bring in light.
Quietly opening your bedroom door, you peeked your head to look at the hallway. Nobody around. Good. You tip-toed to the kitchen of your small two-bedroom apartment, hoping to get your hands on some meat or potatoes to throw in the oven before you’d be seen.
Before entering, you glanced to the living room. Ah, there he was. Your one and only, your lovely husband. You didn’t admire him for long — the stench of the room disrupted you from doing so. You ran to the windows to open as many as you could. ‘At least it should clean the air a bit.’
The living room was also quiet except for Suguru’s snoring and the stupid TV you’d grown to hate. The disapproval was evident on your face, but he wasn’t awake to see. You quietly turned the television off, hoping you hadn’t woken him, before walking back to the kitchen.
As you were selecting the ‘defrosting’ button on your air fryer, your name was called by a voice you now would roll your eyes at. You sighed, a ‘yes?’ exiting your lips before you peeked your head back out.
He was lying there, arms and legs unmoved, staring at the ceiling. His lips parted, and he let out an incomprehensible sentence.
“Aughmndeshinhaph…?”
You resisted the eye roll this time, instead opting for a deep sigh.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” You stated firmly, knowing this wasn’t going to end well. You hoped he’d fall back asleep soon.
He repeated himself louder, as if you didn’t hear the first time. “Aufuhnh.. jediphuynetala.”
You’d already long lost your patience with his stupid behaviour. It was the same every time. You wanted to scream, to yell, to make it so he disappeared under the decibels.
Frustrated, you looked around, wanting to get away from the smell. “Suguru, you’re not making any sense.” You knew there was no point. It was futile. But you could never bring yourself to stop.
He rolled his eyes as if you were being the bothersome one, and tried to be even louder, but he couldn’t get a complete sentence out. His lips could barely do as he ordered them to.
You ended up yelling, like always. Each time you told yourself ‘you can do this, you can be patient with him…’ But the ones who tell you to be gentle don’t understand. It’s one thing to be an addict, and another to live with one. The group therapy people think they understand best; they experienced it first hand after all.
They’re comforting themselves with their own words. That’s what you thought. They wish someone was nice to them when they were struggling. They don’t bother to think how others also fell apart because of them. It’s too painful for them. They have guilt. Yet it’s different from yours.
Your kind of guilt broke you when you stared at an old picture of Suguru, the man you fell in love with, and realised he’s been this way for much longer than you thought. His friends covered for him. Gojo and Shoko called you overdramatic. It’s normal for teenagers to drink, anyway. It won’t lead to catastrophe down the line. Yeah, weird situations exist, but come on, it would never happen to you .
And they were right, for the most part. It didn’t happen to you, it instead got your boyfriend, now husband. You didn’t know which of you was in a worse position. You were sick of sobbing, trying to drag his huge body across the house to get him to clean himself from his vomit. You were sick of returning home to screaming matches and having to nurse a grown man. You also knew he was sick of himself, more sick than you could ever be. Which was why you could never be mad at him for too long. Why you couldn’t leave him.
You knew Suguru Getou would die without you to nurse him.
All you had to lose was him — you’d already lost yourself. Whether he threatened to kill himself by jumping off the rooftop or driving himself into an electricity pole, you gulped it down. Screaming was the only way for you to pretend like he ever heard you out.
So for one more night, you ran to the bathroom to grab a bucket, only to be too late and have him throw up everything on the couch. For one more night you dragged his heavy body across the floor until you reached bed where he could sleep with his piss, shit and vomit all he wanted. You made dinner that’d be his breakfast for when he wanted to sober up.
You ignored his black eye the next morning. He probably fell somewhere in the night. He deserved it. As much as he deserved healing. Whatever. You refused to care.
“Won’t you come to the company party tonight?” A coworker and old friend, Kento asked you.
“Sorry, I’m drinking with my husband tonight.” You gave him a smile, and all Kento could do was frown as he gulped down that stupid regret emerging from his younger self.