You blinked your eyes open to see your husband standing next to the couch. Shit, how long you’d been asleep for?
“I thought you would have at least got some more unpacking done this afternoon.”
Cricking your next and stretching out you legs, you felt annoyed. You could detect irritation in his voice and it grated on you.
“Well this afternoon was very stressful, I had a headache so I took a nap.”
“Stressful? Y/N you went phone shopping, I’d hardly call that stressful.”
Was every conversation going to be like this? You took a deep breath and told yourself to stay calm.
“No that wasn’t. But driving for the first time in years was as was getting stuck in the car park because two assholes can’t park. Even Luke struggled to get out.”
Spencer’s eyes narrowed and you saw something flash in them. “Luke?” His tone was the same but you recognised the clench of the jaw and sudden tension in his shoulders.
“Luke… Mr Alvez, Henry’s teacher. He was at your father’s funeral Spencer. He saw me struggling and helped me out of a tight spot. I’d have still been stuck there now otherwise.”
His shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched. “You could have called me, I would have come and helped.”
“No I couldn’t, the phone was barely charged and I had no idea how far away you were. Luke was there and he helped me out. I’m very thankful to him. But it all gave me a migraine, so I took a few painkillers and fell asleep. I’ll do some more unpacking tomorrow alright. Now,” you inhaled a deeply and pushed your hair back, reminding you yourself that you were trying here. “How was work, did you get everything done?”
Spencer looked suprised but whatever animosity was in his stare dropped. “Erm, I got a lot more done but I’ll probably have to go in over the weekend. I’ll need to sort my father’s study out at some point so I can use that when I’m home.”
“I can do it for you? Just tell me what needs to be done,” you offered.
“That would be…. helpful. Thank you.”
Your stomach rumbled and you looked at your husband hopefully. “Did you bring food?”
“Oh! Yes, it’s in the kitchen. I picked up a bottle of that red wine I know you like as well. Shall we go through to the kitchen and eat?”
You didn’t particularly like red wine, Spencer did. You were a white wine girl unless you had no option. But as you followed him through to the kitchen you could see it was the bottle that you found the least offensive so perhaps that counted towards something?
You ate dinner together in uncomfortable silence, wincing each time you took a sip of the red wine but refilling your glass all the same. You attempted to make conversation with Spencer, telling him about the tech shop girl Penelope, and asking him about his new position. He answered your questions, all the time watching your wine glass, not that you noticed. When you went for the second bottle he’d bought, having not even cleared your plate yet, he put his cutlery down.
“Is spending time with me that bad that you really need to get wasted?” he asked.
You weren’t drunk, only slightly tipsy. But his words sobered you somewhat.
“I’m not getting wasted,” you replied, still refilling your glass and then placing down the bottle. “You’ve been drinking too.”
“I’ve had maybe a glass and a half at most,” he pointed out and you realised that he was right. “Why do you drink so much?”
You stared at your husband, torn between denying his statement and agreeing with him. Because you did drink far too much. It didn’t used to be this way. Yes you were drunk the first time you and he…. but then you hadn’t been able to drink for a few months. And even after that you’d hadn’t felt like you needed to, decorating the apartment and then dealing with Spencer’s treatment taking up your time. You could cope back then, even if you weren’t particularly happy you didn’t feel like you needed to drink. It was only after Derek came back onto the scene that you started. And you just hadn’t really stopped.
“Y/N?” You hadn’t answered him and he was waiting. “I’m not trying to be cruel, I’m concerned.”
“It just…. It helps me relax, it helps me sleep.” You weren’t going to be truthful. You weren’t going to tell him that it was because it numbed the reality of your situation. That you were stuck in a marriage that was falling apart, that the person who you thought had come back for you, had just used you for his own needs. That, out of spite for both men you had ended a pregnancy because you couldn’t stand someone wanting something that was inside your tummy but not you yourself, and that you didn’t want your husband raising a child that wasn’t biologically his and lording it over your head forever. You weren’t going to tell him that you actually hated the fact that you drank so much because it reminded you of your father, but that it had become so a part of your daily routine that it was honestly just habit by now.
You weren’t going to tell him that you wanted to stop, to slow it down, because then he would take from that that he was right and you were wrong.
“If you’re having trouble sleeping Y/N, perhaps make an appointment to get some pills.”
“Maybe I will. Now, do you wanna tell me what needs sorting out in the study?”
Your change of subject didn’t go unnoticed but he let it go, giving you a list of things to do but also telling you that it was no major hurry. After eating you made your excuses and took yourself back up off to bed, Spencer calling your name before you left the kitchen.
“Y/N, we’re invited to dinner tomorrow evening at my sisters. I do need to go out during the day but I’ll be home for around 4pm to get showered and ready. My mother’s looking forward to seeing you again and so is Henry.”
Although it was an invitation you were very much under the impression that you couldn’t refuse which was strange considering how much he’d apparently tried to keep you away from his family.
“Well I look forward to seeing them too.”
You awoke much earlier the next day, hearing the front door shutting as Spencer left. You hauled yourself out of bed and moved to the window, watching him leave through the window pane. You didn’t have a headache despite the one and a half bottles of wine you must have consumed, which told you one thing: you drank so often your body had become used to it. Or at least that was the way it seemed.
That was the way it had seemed with your father too. After your mother abandoned you both he turned to drink, even your seven year self recognising that the bottles that cluttered up the garbage were far too many. The father that had once played with you joyfully in the evenings when he returned from work, now slumping in front of the TV with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand, not even bothering with a glass. You didn’t remember much about before your mother left but you remember your father being happy to sit and play dolls with you and then after she left, you had to play by yourself. Amazingly, he could still function in the morning, tossing back the coffee like it was his lifeline before heading to work, his blood alcohol level far too high for him to be able to legally drive. When you thought back you were now suprised that he hadn’t gotten into an accident and killed both himself and someone else. Instead it was the cirrhosis that killed him, and rather quickly too. He literally dank himself to death, preferring the numb reality that large amounts of alcohol gave him to actual life.
Like father like daughter?
No. You didn’t want that did you? You remembered the quick decline in your father’s health, your Aunt Lorel collecting you from school when your father collapsed in his office. From then it was a matter of months, his skin turning a sickly shade of yellow, his limbs shaking in the hospital bed, him asking Lorel to sneak him in a bottle everytime she took you to see him.
As Spencer drove away, not noticing you watching him, you thought back to your conversation two nights ago.
Things needed to change. Both of you needed to change.
You would stop drinking. Or at least you would stop drinking as much.
Deciding to get a head start on the day now that you were up, you starting moving a few more things around in the room that had become yours. Even if things did change between you and Spencer you didn’t see you going back to sharing a bedroom with him anytime soon, so you unpacked a few suitcases of your clothes, hanging things up in the closet and folding things away in the drawers.
Afterwards you made your way downstairs, still clad in your nightwear and started moving labelled boxes into William’s… well you guessed it was Spencer’s now, study. You didn’t want to do too much in here and Spencer’s instructions had simply been to move his boxes into there and to pack up any papers in his father’s desk, he and his sister would sort through them at a later stage. So that’s what you did, hauling through box after box and wondering how on earth he had so much stuff. You peaked inside one box seeing it was full of notebooks, pages full of ideas and dialogue for stories. You spotted a few with your own writing on them, leftover from the days where you could imagine world’s and characters and could bring them to life with words. He had a lot of your old essays and submitted stories too, a manuscript you had written at aged seventeen which had won you the scholarship. You moved these items to one side, intending to take them to your own from, for what, you weren’t sure. Stealing a glance into another three boxes you saw they were full of letters, fanmail you realised, because fans of writers actually still sent handwritten letters. At the top of one box sat a shoebox, some how different from the rest as the other letters were just piled into the boxed haphazardly, but when you ventured further and looked inside, you again saw that it was just letters. Did Spencer really need to keep all of these? Or could they at least be filed better; perhaps sorted out into folders rather than rammed into boxes. You made a mental note to ask him just as the doorbell sounded.
You made your way to the door, peering through the glass and seeing it was Emily. You opened it to her.
“Hey Y/N!” she smiled warmly and then took in your nightclothes, a concerned look clouding her features. “Still not feeling well?”
“I’ve been unpacking actually. Haven’t had chance to get dressed… Haven’t had chance to even eat or drink actually. Do you wanna come in?” You held the door open and your nearest neighbour stepped inside, looking over the hallway and seeing that there were less boxes.
“So you have. Getting settled in then?”
“So um, I ran into Diana this morning when I was running some errands in town and I mentioned I was heading over to the Target in the city this afternoon. She suggested that you might wanna come? Apparently Spencer told her that he hadn’t really had chance to go grocery shopping yet. Would you like to come? I know it’s not the most exciting of adventures but we could chat some more, get to know each other?”
Something told you that while you were living in this town, you were going to be forced to be social whether you liked it or not.
“That would actually be really great Emily, although I haven’t even had chance to sort the kitchen out yet. The freezer is still frozen over and I need to toss all the expired food out and make a list of what we need. But at least if I come with you I can find out where the Target is. Thank you for offering. Would you mind terribly if I jumped in the shower first though? I’ll be as quick as I can?”
Your raven haired neighbour…. new friend? nodded. “That’s fine, I can wait. And I’ll tell you what, I’ll take a gander around the kitchen whilst you’re getting ready and see what you need if you want? Even if you can’t get everything we can still get you kitted out with the basics.”
You grinned at her and told her that would be great, your face unaccustomed to smiling at people as often as you had these last few days. You bounded up the stairs and quickly showered and got dressed, shooting a quick message off to Spencer to let him know where you were going, should he come home earlier. You grabbed the credit card for his account too, quickly remembering the money he had given you yesterday.
You still had around half of it left and was torn between handing it back over, using it for groceries or just keeping it. Whilst it wasn’t your own money, he had given it to you and hadn’t asked how much the cell had cost you. You decided to keep it, stashing it in your makeup bag.
Maybe you’d ask Emily about waitressing jobs too so that you could add to it, so that you could have your own money.
A voice in the back of your head told you that if you had your own money, then maybe one day you could leave if things didn’t improve. And although you’d both said that things needed to change, were you really expecting them to?
In the short term, maybe.
In the long term term though?
That same voice wondered if you’d ever actually have the courage to walk out into the unknown, alone, without any support or anyone to fall back on.
Maybe though, if things didn’t improve it would be better to be alone.
You paid little attention to that voice as you quickly applied make up. Because if you did, you’d have realised that you were already setting things in place to leave. Because you knew what was surely inevitable of your situation.
*First Impressions is a long running Peaky Blinders Fanfic about Michael Gray. It is updated every few days! Please like, reblog and follow if you haven’t already! Any and all feed back is welcome and appreciated! Requests are OPEN, but it may take me a few days to get to it.*
(A/N: To the Anon and everyone else who wanted the second part to the ‘Criminallly good date night with Jamie imagine’. Hope you enjoy and sorry it took so long for me to post. I’m a crappy a blog runner especially when I’m a combination of tried and busy. I’m sorry if this is terrible)
“This is it, isn’t it?” You questioned, getting out the car and surveying your surroundings.
“This is what?” Jamie countered, getting out himself and looking over at you from his side of the car.
“This is where you murder me,” You clarified, “I’ll admit it well thought out. It’s quiet, secluded dense. It’s the evening so there are fewer people that could be possible witnesses to your crime. Take me far enough no one will hear me. And I’m working on the assumption that even though you plan on ending my life that you still care for me a little and that is why you decided to do it here, out of all places. Because you know that I have a deep emotional connection to this park,”
“Are you done?” Jamie sighed, though still amused.
“Doing what?” You inquired.
“Your speech about how you think I’m going to murder you,” He informed.
“You act like I make it often,” You stated.
“You do,” He reaffirmed.
“Well, it is likely,” You commented.
“No, it’s not,” He argued, rather adamantly.
“If I had been dating me for officially thirteen years tomorrow, I would,” You chuckled.
I’m just a small enby babe tryna get choked on this fine Friday night but all I’m doing is online shopping for lingerie and eating apple butter on toast, so, hit me with those suggestions and questions! I’ll be answering all night, I’m active rn.
Mochi!Alfred: Ow.. urrrrgh.. huh? Wha.. FOOD! Oh my god YES FOOD! ..wait a second, where am I? How the hell did I end up here?!
*listens to all the chattering, is very surprised that it’s all in Italian*
Mochi!Alfred: ..how the hell did I end up in Italy, of all places?! I was just heading out from our home to get something for Vanya.. ooohhh.. ouch, my head hurts. My memories are a mess.. V-vanya? Wh-where are you?!