You sat on the couch in disbelief, clutching the magazine in your hands tightly.

What the fuck?

You assessed the magazine cover time and time again, trying to believe that what you were seeing was some cruel hallucination. Some hallucination that was intertwined with one of your worst fears.

Your husband, with another woman? Heather Locklear, no less?

Your eyes kept flicking from Tommy to Heather, whom he was hugging close. His hands were on her ass, and he was pressing a kiss to her lips. She was kissing back, and her hands were wrapped around his neck. Your man's neck.

Your stomach churned, and you felt the tears begin to well up in your eyes. The headline only made those tears fall:

ARE TOMMY LEE AND HEATHER LOCKLEAR TOGETHER? MORE INFO INSIDE!!

How could the magazine do this? Everyone and their mother knew that Tommy Lee was married to you, proven by the wedding band so clearly shown on his finger in the picture. Capitalizing off of your pain was so wrong.

But, what was even more wrong was that Tommy had the gall to even cheat on you in the first place.

You looked at your matching wedding band, feeling sick that you were even wearing it. What was supposed to be a sacred piece of metal no longer felt sacred. The bond between the two of you had been broken, and it was all his fault.

The ring started to feel heavy on your finger, so you took it off. You absently played with it, the tears rolling silently down your face. You felt so naive; Tommy was a rockstar. It was only a matter of time before he broke your heart.

People had tried to tell you that, but you dismissed them, believing Tommy instead when he said you were different. That he would be loyal to you and you only, and that he didn't want anyone else.

Trying to refrain from ripping up the incriminating magazine, you gently placed your wedding band plus your engagement ring on the counter, the stunning diamonds suddenly becoming ugly to you.

You buried your head in your hands, your sobs finally bursting out of your mouth in agonized screams.

You knew you'd have to confront him when he came home from the recording studio. He was recording some songs for Theatre of Pain with the guys, and he would be back any minute now. This was not something that you could just sit on, nor did you want to. You wanted to scream so loud at that asshole that your throat would go hoarse, followed by storming out. He didn't deserve anything less. He had everything, and he stomped all over it. All for some bimbo actress.

Your hands were wet from your tears at this point, and you were angrily stomping one foot as hard as you could. You'd never known heartbreak like this before, and you knew it would only get worse. The hardest part was not finding out, it was letting Tommy know you found out. After all, he'd try to pull out the puppy eyes. He'd somehow spin it so that he was blameless, and his lack of responsibility would hurt even more.

After all, it would show that you had not married the right man.

Speaking of which, you heard the door begin to unlock.

You raised your head and squared your shoulders, letting out a breath of air. You didn't try to wipe away the tears; you wanted him to see what pain he had caused you.

The door opened, and Tommy walked into the room, cheerfully humming a tune. Completely oblivious to what you had found out, and just how much his life would change.

He looked at you, and he didn't notice your tears at first. "Hey, baby! How—" He noticed then, though, and he bounded over to you, absently shoving the magazine out of the way so he could sit next to you. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

The sight of his face sickened you. Well, maybe that wasn't the right way to phrase it. Maybe, what you had meant was, the strong love you felt toward that face sickened you. Because, even after the shit he pulled, you still wanted to hug him and hear him feed you lies.

You reached across his lap wordlessly, grabbing the magazine he had pushed aside. He clearly hadn't thought about it. He thought that it was a meaningless object here; all it was doing was taking up space. But, he'd think about it a lot from then on, and you knew it.

You handed it to him with that same silence, squeezing your eyes shut and continuing to cry.

Tommy looked at the cover, and his heart dropped. He saw himself, with his tongue down another woman's throat. And he saw the woman he had married crying about it with so much genuine pain that he wanted to cry, too.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the magazine, despite how much he wanted to. He couldn't believe that one of the two people displayed was him, and he began to feel more guilt than he ever had after any of his hookups with Heather. And those had been oppressing, so this. . . This was suffocating.

He dropped the magazine to the floor, flipping it over so that neither of you had to see him. He turned to you, and you were curled up in a tiny ball, shaking with sobs.

His features softened, and his eyes began to well up with tears similar to yours. "(Y/N)," he breathed, incredibly sorry.

"Shut the fuck up," you whispered, not even looking at him. Your breathing became rattled with just how much you had been crying, and Tommy took it upon himself to try and wrap his arms around you from behind.

You immediately slapped his arms away, whirling around so that you were no longer curled up. Now, Tommy could see the rage on your face, and it scared him. What would you do?

"Don't fucking touch me, asshole!" you shrieked, your expression quickly turning back to sadness after that burst of anger. You returned your head to your damp hands, muttering, "Just leave me alone."

"No, (Y/N), please let me explain," he squeaked out, and he immediately felt stupid for saying that. Not only would he probably get a slap in the face from you, but he was completely at a loss for how he would explain this. This was a pretty cut-and-dry situation; there was no misconstruing it. It's not like he had been hugging Heather. No, he had his tongue down her throat.

Your head snapped back from your hands with a suddenness that actually made Tommy jump. "EXPLAIN?!" you yelled. "OH, I'D LOVE TO HEAR YOUR EXPLANATION! SO, TELL ME TOMMY, WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU MAKING OUT WITH HEATHER FUCKING LOCKLEAR?"

His mouth hung open as he desperately tried to think of what to say. He didn't want to lie, but telling you that he had been having rendezvous with the actress for quite a while didn't sound right, either.

He noticed then that you weren't wearing your engagement ring, nor your wedding ring, and his heart sank. Completely ignoring your question, he asked quietly, "Why did you take your rings off?"

"Oh, I wonder," you remarked sarcastically. "Maybe because my husband is a whore and cheated on me?" You shrugged mockingly. "I could be wrong, though, it was just a thought."

"No, no, (Y/N). Put on the rings, baby. We can work this out, I promise." He looked around for the rings, found them, and took them in his hand. He extended his arm to you and knew that the only way to get out of this was to tell you the truth. Sure, the immediate impact would be nasty, but it'd be better for him in the long run.

So, he began to talk. "Just so we don't have any more lies between us, yes. I cheated on you. Multiple times. I had hookups with Heather, but I swear that's all it meant to me. And I don't think you know how fucking sorry I am. I've never felt right about sleeping with her, but I just. . .didn't stop. And I should have. Hell, I shouldn't have even done it to begin with. Because you satisfy my sexual needs, and every other need. I don't know what I was thinking."

This accountability that Tommy was showing was dangerous. It definitely caught you off guard, and it was so sincere that it made you want to take the rings from him and return them to that familiar place on your finger.

But, at the same time, hearing him say it, that he had cheated on you, made you sick.

You tried to cling to the latter emotion, since you knew you didn't deserve someone like him. Him charming his way back into your heart would not be beneficial for either of you; he needed someone who would be okay with his womanizing ways, and you needed someone that would stay loyal.

And clearly, that meant that you two were not good for each other.

That realization hurt.

So, clinging to the rage, you smacked the rings out of his hand, heart cracking at the way his eyes filled with hurt.

"I know what you were thinking," you hissed. "Spoiler, you weren't! You never do! And it's always at the expense of someone else."

For emphasis, you kicked the rings across the room, enjoying the skittering sound they made as they got further and further away from you. "I don't fucking deserve this."

You stood up, and Tommy was quick to stand up, too. "Wait, wait, wait! Where are you going?"

"Away from here. I'll come back for my stuff the next time you're out. Get a lawyer too, asshole. And make it a good one."

You began to turn to walk out the door, but Tommy grabbed your shoulder and spun you back around. The tears were rolling down his face now, and he couldn't believe he had screwed up to this magnitude. He had been an asshole before, no question about that. But, this was a new low. And it had come to bite him in the ass.

"(Y/N), please don't leave me," he sobbed, grabbing your shoulders with his sickeningly comforting hands. "I'm sorry. I'll never even look at another woman again! I promise!"

"You promise shit all the time," you whispered, taking his hands and prying them off you. "And you never keep them."

And you had a point. He had promised to lessen his drinking, and he never did. He had promised to kick drugs altogether, and he never did. There were more trivial promises as well, and, while inconsequential while considering them individually, they piled up. And they solidified the realization that he was not a guy you could count on. For anything.

"I will this time!" he found himself blurting out. "I know you've heard that before. But, it's true this time."

"Even if you did somehow change," you began, looking at his heartbroken face and trying not to give in, "things would never be the same between us. I'd never be able to trust you again."

"I know. But can you at least try? We can work this out!"

You smiled in a mean-spirited way. "Wow, I never knew you'd have the balls to ask that. Really, Tommy, did you just fucking ask me to try to trust you? I shouldn't have to fucking try! I should just be able to do it! And whose fault is it that I can't?"

Tommy lowered his head in shame, the tears dripping off of his chin. "Mine."

"Damn right." You assessed the saddened man before you, and, while you couldn't stand the thought of leaving, it was for the best. You shouldn't have to tolerate his shit any longer.

So, you turned around again, reaching for the door. "Bye, Tommy. Sorry for all the money this divorce will cost you."

Hysterically crying at this point, Tommy yelled, "So that's it? You're just gonna walk out on four years of marriage?"

Your hand closed around the knob, and you paused a little before sighing. "Yes." You glanced behind you with a sad smile. "Yes, I am."

And with that, you twisted the knob, slipped out, and shut the door behind you. Not before giving him the finger, however.

Tommy's legs suddenly felt numb, and were unable to support his weight. He fell to his knees, looking at the door in transfixed disbelief. He thought that he would be able to convince you to stay, he really did. He had charmed countless women by just being, but, of course, he couldn't charm the one he wanted most.

Suddenly, his sadness flickered into anger. Not at you, but at himself. But, rather than screaming at himself, he began to scream at the ghost of you in order to let it out.

"FUCK YOU, (Y/N)!" he shrieked, pointing sharply at the space in front of the door that you had been occupying. He crumbled even further to the ground, and now, he was laying flat on his stomach. He slammed his fist against the hardwood, over and over again. Loud sobs wracked his body, and he continued to incoherently scream for around five minutes.

After that, though, the anger fizzled out, and the sadness was back. He curled up into a ball on the floor, his eyeliner cascading down his face in streaks of black. "Fuck you," he said again, quietly this time.

This time, he was saying it to himself.