A/N: So I have like 5 bajillion stories in my brain right now, and I just need to get them out so I can actually write Tattoos and Sex Addictions. So yeah, here it is. Love it or hate it. Lemme know.


I grunted against the tile of the shower wall as my release spilled into the drain. I rested my forehead against my forearm and let the water wash away the emptiness that was my life. Most would probably say that I have it made, that my life is utter perfection. I beg to differ.

Perfection doesn't come in the form of long hours at work, in a distant wife, in an empty house.

My wife is Tanya De-fucking-nali. She didn't even want my last name, wanted to "be her own person". Whatever the fuck that means.

I shut the water off and stepped out onto the rug. I ran the towel over my skin and then over my hair. I stared in the mirror like I'd been doing often lately, wondering why I chose this for my life. Why I chose to live this way every single day. Why I chose to be miserable.

I dressed quickly and poured myself a cold cup of coffee, she didn't even bother to keep it warm anymore. After I finished I rinsed the cup and put it back in the cupboard just how she likes it.

Nothing ever out of place.

I drove to my office building and park in the space that read CEO. CE-fucking-O. And she wouldn't even take my last name.

I shook my head and walked into the building, giving Irina a casual wave hello. I settled in my office and began reading all my new emails.

Two from Jasper regarding a meeting we have scheduled for next week. A raunchy email from Emmett. Eleven business related emails from various people in the company. And one from Tanya with our plans for the upcoming weekend.

Friday would be dinner with her parents, Saturday was the ballet, and Sunday was free time for myself. Free time for my-fucking-self.

I took a deep breath and sent her back a generic reply, wanting nothing more than to tell her that all of my time was for myself.

I spent the rest of the day in meetings and going through paperwork, by the time seven o'clock came around I was exhausted and ready for a stiff drink. I drove home the long way, told myself it was for the scenery.

I got home at exactly seven thirty and she was already standing in the doorway, hand on hip. Her hair flowed freely around her shoulders, her work clothes still present on her body. I ran my eyes up and down her body, wanting to feel that shred of passion I felt when we got married. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

I pressed a kiss to her cheek and went straight for the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of wine and glanced around, hoping for dinner or at the very least a sandwich. Nothing. I took a long drink of my wine and started rummaging through cupboards, looking for something, for anything to eat.

After fifteen minutes of me searching and her watching I announced that I would be ordering take out. She wrote down what she wanted and walked away. I heard the bedroom door close a few moments later and finally pulled my phone out to call the Chinese restaurant around the corner.

I gave them my credit card number and finished off the rest of my wine, pouring another glass immediately. I finally looked around the house and saw that she already had a wine glass sitting out in the living room. Judging by the amount of wine already gone from the bottle, she'd probably already had at least three. Which means she's probably feeling slightly buzzed, which mean I might actually get to touch her tonight.

I sat down on the sofa and turned the tv on, opting to watch the basketball game that was on. I couldn't even pay attention to what was going on, my mind constantly going off into this platonic state. I'd stare at the screen so long my eyes would start hurting, but I wouldn't be able to look away.

The doorbell rang and I got up to get the food, she met me halfway to the door and we did this awkward dance around each other. It was like she was a stranger or something.

She finally conceded and let me answer the door. I took the bag of food from the man and closed the door behind me. I could hear her going through the cupboards, getting out plates. I walked into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter, removed eat of the boxes of food.

I served my own plate and sat by myself at the kitchen table. She made her plate and walked off into the living room. I heard the tv change channels and knew that tonight would be just like every other night. Nothing different, absolutely nothing.

I finished dinner and tried playing my piano, but couldn't focus enough to get through one whole song. I gave up after an hour and a half of trying and headed up the stairs. The bedroom door was closed when I got upstairs. I silently opened it and walked to the closet. I removed my clothing quietly, opting to sleep in nothing but my briefs.

I slid into the bed gently, trying not to wake her. It would definitely be a fight if I woke her up. I scooted closer to her and draped my arm over her waist, hoping that tonight she would at least let me hold her.

She mumbled in her sleep and moved away from my body. Moved away from my fucking body. I removed my arm from her waist and closed my eyes to go to sleep. She wouldn't even take my last name.

The rest of the week passed in an awkward blur. My days continued like they always did.

Wake up. Shower. Jerk off. Go to work. Drive home the long way. Eat greasy food. Drink. Watch tv. Drink some more. Go to sleep.

They all blurred together like some fucked up tv show, I couldn't tell what was real and what was in my mind. I felt myself starting to go insane. I had to do something and quick.

Friday came and I spent the whole day at work trying to come up with an excuse as to why I couldn't go to her parent's for dinner. I definitely couldn't say I was sick, I never get sick. I definitely couldn't say I had something to do for work, she knew I never worked past seven o'clock. By the end of the day I had a very long list of far-out excuses that would get me nowhere but in the doghouse.

I finally just decided that I would tell her the truth, I just needed some time to relax. Alone.

I got home at exactly seven thirty. She stood in the doorway as usual, hand on hip. I had to be the one to make things different, because she never would.

"Tanya...I, uh, I'm not going to your parents tonight." I waited for some sort of freakout. For her expression to shift to anger or confusion or hurt or something. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

"Okay." That's all she said, okay. She slipped her purse on her shoulder and walked out the door. Not even a goodbye.

That night, I drank myself to sleep. I passed out on the sofa with the tv on.

I woke up the next morning feeling worse than I ever had, nothing could stop my head from pounding. I spent the entire day just trying to feel better for the ballet, to make this a good night for her.

I wish I would've known back then. I wish I would've known what would come of that night for my marriage. Maybe I could have changed everything, maybe I could have made things work.

But I was caught in the moment, and everything hit me at once. And I just couldn't anymore...couldn't pretend to be happy in a situation that no one could be happy in...