A/N: As you will notice from the first line, this was inspired by 'Love the Way You Lie' by Rihanna ft Eminem (Part 2). This will be a series of four (I think) short one-shots. Three are complete and I'm writing the fourth. Crossing Lines is on hiatus until I can churn the next chapter out, so here's a little something for you Drarry lovers while you wait.
A HUGE thanks to Lori for the beta on this, she is an absolute angel!
"Just gonna stand there and watch me burn, but that's alright because I like the way it hurts."
He smells of perfume, yet again. I know where he's been, and I know whose scent permeates the air around him. It still amazes me that he thinks me so naïve.
The first time, maybe I was. His excuse was so plausible. He was working late; they had dinner together over case files. Then, I began to wonder why he didn't come home smelling of burgers or Chinese. It is always gardenia. I swear it gets stronger every time. It feels as if he's flaunting it now, rather than trying to hide it.
He doesn't come home and head directly to the shower anymore; he hugs me still reeking of that bint. Its such a slap in the face. If he were seeing another man, I would know exactly how to win him back. As it is, I wonder how I'm to compete, for surely I will lose him - if I haven't already.
The first few minutes after he comes through the door I'm always so terrified. Will it be today? Will today end the lies that threaten to suffocate me? Everyday I find myself hoping not. It says something that he still cares enough to lie, right? If there is anything left for me in his heart - any small piece of it that hasn't been rotted by her - then maybe, just maybe, I still have a chance.
He is in love with her. I see the way he looks at her, the glazed expression that sinks into his eyes when she's nearby. I feel it in the way he touches me, as if I'm merely a chore. His kisses used to feel like fire, now its just something else that must be done. A brief brush of lips and a mumbled 'love you' are all I get.
I've tried so hard to hold on to him. So hard, in fact, that I've stood idly by as he falls in deeper. I have never mentioned his dalliance. I have never once voiced my concerns - my heartache. I want to scream, throw things, demand he 'stop this nonsense at once.' I want to cry, beg him to love me again. Then, sometimes, I just want to let go.
I think tonight is it, the night I finally let go. When he reaches for me, I back away. There is a question floating in those green - so green - eyes, but he doesn't ask. Instead, his arms drop and resignation - is that sadness as well? - clouds his face.
I tell him that dinner is waiting under a heating charm in the kitchen. It's no surprise when he says he isn't hungry. He eyes me carefully for a moment, as if memorizing my face, before disappearing into the bathroom to shower. I don't think, don't wonder if I'm making the right choice. I grab the nearest trunk and pack as much as I can.
A quickly scribbled note on our bed will be all the explanation he gets. It isn't as if he needs to know why; he already knows. I stop at the threshold of our home. This is it. The moment I've been fearing for months - since the first time the smell of gardenias turned my stomach.
Its strange that I was so frightened of him leaving, and I'm the one walking out. Really though, he left a long time ago; I'm simply closing the door behind him. The sound of the door hits me like a punch in the stomach and I remind myself to put one foot in front of the other - one step at a time, one tear at a time.