Does he really love me… or does he just love that I’ve been holding everything together without making noise about it?
I don’t want to believe he’s using me. That’s the part that hurts. Because before all this, he held his own—paid his share, handled his business. And that Camaro he babies doesn’t exactly screamfinancial struggle.
Maybe he has been looking for jobs like he claims. Maybe he’s not. But the question stings quietly at the back of my mind—what did he do to lose his job in the first place?And if it’s so easy for him to lie about that… what else is he not saying?
I let out a breath, pick my fork back up, and stab at my potato salad. The food tastes like nothing. But the silence tastes worse. It stretches thick across the table, swallowing everything we used to be so effortlessly.
The rest of the night drags on. I pay the bill, and we drive home without speaking, the engine’s hum filling the space where words should be.
By the time we slide into bed, the silence has teeth.
I roll onto my side, facing the wall, and he mirrors me like we’re choreographed strangers. The darkness folds around us, and the space between our bodies feels colder, wider… like we’re lying next to each other, but already drifting somewhere else.
Somewhere I’m not sure we know how to come back from.
? ? ?
I wake up before he does, lying still for a moment while the room settles around me. His breathing is soft enough that it should calm me, but all it does is remind me of the silence we carried to bed last night. Thick and unspoken. Still sitting between us like a closed door even in his dreams.
I can’t take it anymore. If I don’t talk to Arina, my head is going to explode.
Careful not to wake him, I slip out of bed and pad across the cool floor to her room. After the first knock, the door cracks open. She stands there half-asleep, robe loose, hair sticking up like she lost a fight with her pillow.
“What’s wrong, girl? It’s early as fuck. You’ve got to get better at timing your breakdowns,” she mutters, stepping aside to let me in.
I drop onto her bed, pulling at the hem of my black pajama shorts, trying to ground myself. The room smells faintly of old coffee and her Daisy Love perfume—comforting in a chaotic Arina way.
“I don’t know how to deal with this shit,” I say, the words already shaking. “Hell, I don’t even know if I can afford this anymore.”
I take a breath, but everything inside me is already spilling over.
“He told me before we walked into the restaurant that work has just beenslow. Then, while we’re eating, he tells me he lost his job completely—weeks ago, Arina. Weeks. And he’s barely saying something now.” My voice cracks, my hands shaking.
“Like what in the actual fuck am I suppose to do. He’s been walking around here, letting me pay for everything, acting like nothing’s wrong. This is not what I imagined when he moved in here.”
The words tumble out faster than I can catch them—fear, and frustration, all knotted together.
Arina groans, flopping back onto the bed and yanking her robe tighter like I just handed her a full-time problem. And I kind of did.
“Are you serious? He really lost his job? Did you ask why—I wonder what happened. But regardless, that’s such a dick move—letting you pay for everything while he isn’t doing anything.”
I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head slowly. “It doesn’t even matter why he lost it—it’s gone. But what really gets me is how easily he’s been lying to me for weeks. Like he doesn’t see everything I do for us every single day.”
“You’re right, the reason doesn’t matter,” she says through a yawn. “But why does he feel like he needs to lie in the first place? Pride? Ego? Stupidity? I don’t get it. You’re literally the most understanding person I know—and I’m sure he’s had plenty of chances to tell you. You gotta talk to him Jaine, ask him if he’s actually applying for jobs. Remember, hedidhave one when you got with him, but that’s still doesn’t make this switch-up fair.”
“Yeah, I know.” I exhale, pushing my hair back. “He says he is but—I don’t know, he could be lying about that too, but I’m gonna stay on him. He better get another fucking job, or I’m done. I’d much rather be outside with you than sitting in that house stressing until my edges fall out. I’m too young for grey hair bitch.”
She nudges me with her elbow, smirking. “Shut up. You’ve never once invited a guy to move in here, so you must really love him. Don’t let something fixable ruin something good. But if he wants to be a broke liar, then he can do that on his own time—because I can definitely use my wingman back.”
“Bitch, it’s wingwoman,” I correct her, finally smiling. “But you’re right.”
We sit together—talking, laughing between the heavy parts, throwing out job ideas, side hustles, even ridiculous suggestions just to break the tension in my body. And somehow, it works.
For the first time since last night, the pressure in my chest loosens. I feel lighter, like I can finally face him without blowing up.
I stand, smoothing the wrinkles out of my pajama top. “Thanks again, Arina,” I say softly, giving her a tired but real smile. “I can’t wait to start shopping for Halloween decorations and figure out our costumes.”
She groans, stretching her arms above her head. “I keep forgetting to order mine. But I think I want to be a cheerleader.”
