Honey Sweet Words

For the fourth time this week, the sound of the door unlocking wakes me up. I roll over in bed, pressing my nose into the cold pillow next to me, and blink my eyes open as light comes flooding into the room. 

Liam moves around, apparently trying to be quiet but failing miserably. I peer up at him from my spot on the bed, curled up like a cat by the window. He starts to unzip his pants, and this is when I finally roll over and face my back to him, which catches his attention. 

“Naomi?” Liam asks. “You awake?”

I grumble in response. I don’t want to talk to him, and it must be pretty clear, because he doesn’t attempt to make conversation again. He switches the light off, bathing the room in darkness. The bed shifts next to me, and I glare at the fluttering curtains in my line of sight. It’s petty, but when Liam tries to get some of the blanket from me, I refuse to give it up. Eventually, he gets up from bed again and grabs a throw rug from the sofa in the corner. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I deserve that, I guess.”

He’s never home anymore. 

Our life was meant to be perfect. We were supposed to have a white picket fence, with two kids and a dog and a cat by now, and instead… Liam and I haven’t properly spoken in months. Every day, I wake up alone, and every night, I fall asleep in a cold bed. I can’t remember the last time we kissed. 

The day I met Liam, I was overcome with butterflies. He was everything I liked, everything I thought I needed. My parents didn’t approve of him, though, because they believed he wouldn’t make a good husband. They said he cared too much about his work, that I would become a trophy wife at home. I hate that they were correct. 

“Naomi?” Liam tries again. My face flushes with heat as I feel his cold fingers pressed up against my back. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

I’ve always been a sucker for him. Liam can make mistakes sound sweet, can make the worst words sound like love poems whispered in the dead of the night. He’s always been steady, perfect, and I’m the opposite. While I'm in chaos, Liam is grounded. Opposites attract, and all that. 

He hasn’t been home recently. It’s all been about work, work, work, and not me. I thought for a long time I was being selfish, because he loves his job and works hard to provide for us, but overtime I’ve come to realize that wanting my husband to be with me sometimes isn’t a big ask. 

We were perfect together, once. Our hands seemed to fit together like pieces of a puzzle, his skin cold while mine was warm. He was supposed to be mine, and instead he belongs to his job.

But I’ve always been a sucker for him, so I roll over. I open my mouth, even though I don’t know what I’m going to say. “Liam…” I whisper, feeling a mixture of emotions come rushing in all at once. “You can’t keep doing this to me. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It won’t happen again.”

The next night, it does. And the night after that, and the night after that. He’s pulled away for work, and never pulled back to me. I don’t know if I matter enough. 

A week passes, and it happens again and again. I realize that his promise means nothing. That I mean nothing. 

For so long, I’ve been trying to make this work. Spending day after day writing my books, throwing my depression onto my characters instead of facing it head on. For so long, I was obsessed with the idea of a perfect marriage, and now I think I might be obsessed with the idea of leaving. 

When he comes back at midnight again, I’m awake. I’ve been sitting in the dining room with a suitcase packed, drinking mug after mug of expensive coffee. The door opens, and Liam strides in, looking exhausted but proud from his day of work. He almost immediately spots me at the table, and does a double take. I start to speak before he can say his honey-sweet words. 

“I’m leaving,” I tell him. “I’m done with this shit. You’ve got so many fucking employees, Liam. You can leave them alone for a little bit to spend some time with your wife. I’m going to stay with my parents while you sort out your shit.”

“Naomi-”

“No. I’m serious, Liam. Night after night, you come home and ignore me. You’re so fucking obsessed with this job of yours. I tried to understand, I really did. But no matter what I did, it’s always the promotion and not your fucking wife!”

“You’re being dramatic,” he snaps. “I’m making money for us, Naomi. You sit on your ass all year, publishing books that nobody reads.”

I expected this, so his venomous comment does nothing to sway me. Instead, I slam my coffee mug down on the table and stand up, already gripping the handle of my suitcase. “My books have been on the bestseller list for months in a row, Liam. Stop justifying your bullshit. I’m leaving. I’m going to stay with my parents.”

I stride past him with a sense of pride, pride that I’ve finally managed to do this. The cold wind caresses my face as I open the door and step out into the night, my suitcase rolling behind me. Liam follows, saying my name over and over as if that will get me to come back, but I put my suitcase in the back of my car and climb into the driver's seat.

“You’re going to come back,” Liam says. 

I let out a huff of laughter. “Nah,” I say, starting the car. “I don’t think I will.”