I know drinking is not the answer.

I know I need to put in some serious work on my marriage.

I know that there are a million and one things wrong with me hitting up another club tonight.

But my bag of fucks to give still contains a grand whopping total of zero fucks.

The tension between Dani and I over me bottling up my problems only pushes me to drown my sorrows in a bottle of alcohol. And another...and another.

I'm seeking an escape from the intense flurry of Christmas preparations being undertaken at home. It was going to be perfect. But I guess there won't be any naughty lingerie or bloody fantastic sex with Misha to start off the new year.

Dani seems to be avoiding me as well, spending more and more time down at the clinic. I've stopped telling her to calm down about the babies and give her poor doctor a break. She's been obsessively compulsive like this since the start of her pregnancy.

There's no denying anymore that my marriage is slowly crumbling. There has been no real intimacy between us for weeks, and tension for longer than that as a result of my suppressed feelings for Misha. I could hide it before, but not after having him. Not after being with him, touching him, tasting him, possessing him for a brief, blissfully surreal daydream. There's no going back.

Whatever I do, it isn't enough.

I'm powerless against the chilling truth: since the first transference of intimate touch between our bodies, he's been embedded in my skin. Traces of him remain inside me like a lingering ghost, locked under my skin in permanent remembrance.

That man doesn't even know that he owns me, can undress me, take from me what he desires, do whatever he wants with my body and mind. I gave myself to him, delivered like an offering into his hands: his to obliterate. I'm addicted to that bewitching, celestial beauty of a man, knowing only too well that I'll never get another fix.

I want to satisfy my wife. I want to be a good father. But I'm not whole without him, and the part of me that splintered off with his departure was the part crucial to my ability to love and care for someone else. And he doesn't even realize he has it.

The thought of seeing him again in a month has my insides quaking with a hellish mixture of melancholy and yearning. I want him, I need to stay away from him. I need him, I hate him. He builds me up, he demolishes me. He's my next breath, my poison.

There are no hot, homosexual encounters at the club tonight, which is just as well because nobody is as gorgeous and good in bed as Misha Collins. What he gave me, I can't get from anyone else.

Dani is royally pissed when I call her to come pick me up. She lectures me the entire duration of the ride home. I'm irresponsible, I need to stop drinking so much, I have two newborns and a toddler at home, I don't communicate with her enough, I need to learn to ask for help when I need it, et cetera, et cetera.

Exhausted and completely shitfaced, I sit slumped in the passenger seat, drawing my hands despairingly over my face.

She's right. I don't talk to her anymore. Something's gotta give; either I start communicating my feelings to her more openly or...I have no idea what she'll do.

"This isn't fair to me," she bites out, the lines of her face strained and tense as she grips the steering wheel.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're not," she returns easily, knuckles whitening. "If you were, you'd do something about it. You'd change. But Jensen, you've been off for months. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on. And I for one am pretty fucking curious."

I can read her disdain in the slight crinkle of her nose and the pained set of her jaw.

"It's nothing-"

"Bullshit," she hisses. "Just the same old bullshit." She shakes her head, eyes gaining a watery gleam in the flood of passing streetlights. My heart makes a leap towards my throat. "What is happening to us?"

The question is empty, devoid of any hope for an answer. Like an answer wouldn't even matter at this point.

I thought I could fix things with her, be a better person in the upcoming year, but now I'm starting to wonder if that's even possible. I'm still healing from Misha, and the process is hurting her as much as it's hurting me. And I can't make it better, not without spilling the secret I've sacrificed so much to conceal from her.

I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on.

But it would defeat the purpose of everything if I confess to her what's really going on. And if I don't...

She'll leave me.

The realization rings hollow in my chest. Another person leaving me. That's just what I need.

I can't tell her, I can't not tell her.

What am I supposed to do?

I realize belatedly that Dani's asked me a question and I haven't answered. But it doesn't matter because I couldn't answer it honestly if I tried.

The tension between us is palpable and thick, hanging like a heavy, black partition between our seats. I wonder half-heartedly if this crumbling process is something I can even stop. I'm just a man, and this task seems too big. It's too much; I can't do it.

I can't save our marriage any more than I can bring Misha back to me. I feel so hopeless, so incapable of changing anything about my present circumstances. And yet it's all my fault, my doing. I shouldn't have given my heart to Misha because now I have nothing left to give the one I promised it to. And the repercussions will be devastating, I'm sure of that much. But how was I supposed to keep from falling in love with the bastard?

The house is dark and quiet upon our return, save for the jangling of Dani's keys and the dull tromping of our shoes. The sounds of our entry ring hollow in the blackness, reinforcing the sensation of imprisonment.

"I'll, um..." I rub the back of my neck, lingering hopelessly in the doorway. "I'll sleep on the couch."

I sway slightly, reaching out to clutch the doorframe for support. My head is throbbing to a dizzying beat, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the pounding.

"Do whatever you want," Dani bites out testily.

No sooner have the words left her mouth than the baby monitor crackles to life. The crying only intensifies my headache, but I make a valiant effort to push off from the door.

"I've got it," Dani mutters, noticing my pitiful effort. She bounds up the stairs, leaving me alone to search out some water and pills in the kitchen.

I brace my forearms against the kitchen counter, feeling the lead weight of guilt and grief dragging at the skin beneath my eyes.

I have to right things with Dani, but right now I don't even know if I can make it up the stairs without hurling. I press a hand to my forehead, glistening with sweat and pulsing with turmoil and inebriation.

God, I pray. If you give even one fuck...please. Bring Misha back to me. I'll start going to church, I'll be a better man... I'll do anything.

***

The December sunlight shimmers behind the muslin curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed where our bodies lie, separated by too much space and wrapped up in a cocoon of sheets.

Dani and I lie awake, unmoving save for the steady rise and fall of our chests.

And it's terrible that my mind is swimming with images of Misha's eyes peering at me under tousled bedhead: a vivid sapphire, like his irises had absorbed the entire sky. I'm reeling with the memory of arms around waists and noses snuggled into necks, warm fingertips searching each other out beneath the blankets. Tender smiles and teeth working marks into necks, nipping at earlobes and lips and collarbones, tongues soothing the pain. Clairvoyant laughter, bubbling, rolling up throats, and gentle kisses pressed to quivering skin. Bodies conjoined and sharing each other's warmth, heartbeats a single lullaby. I wish I could bottle his scent and warmth and taste, as vital as the oxygen flowing into my lungs.

I tighten my fingers in the sheets and try not to recall sharp intakes of breath, released in gasps and barely-audible moans as we rolled around under the covers, the slow drag of tongues and desperate kisses. How sometimes he would kiss me slow and sensual, and other times rough and uncoordinated, trembling with lust and need. How our bodies fit together against the white linen, how we explored and memorized each other with hands and lips and smouldering eyes. I'm lost in the delicious sensation of fingers gliding underwear down thighs, torturously slow, the subtle arching of Misha's back and scrunching of his eyes letting me know I was working his body just right. Heads thrown back, breathing erratic, muscles slick with sweat and tightening, spasming, as tear-soaked lips whispered against bare skin, I love you-

"-you think?"

I shake my head, thoughts scattering as my eyes blink open to meet Dani's inquisitive gaze. Her eyebrows climb towards her forehead, and I struggle to recall her question. 

"Huh?"

She closes her eyes, nostrils flaring impatiently.

"What do you think about marriage counselling?"

My jaw slackens, mouth working helplessly for a full minute before I admit, "I...don't think that's going to help."

Dani's eyes sharpen and I think for a second that she's going to slap me.

"I tried, Jensen," she finally bites out. "I really did. But we can't save this marriage if you're not trying too."

"Dani," I try, reaching for her hands.

She brushes me off, shaking her head.

"You won't even admit that we're falling apart."

"Dani, we're not-"

"Just shut up," she hisses.

"Listen-"

"No. No, I won't." She shakes her head again in vehement protest. "I refuse to listen to any more of your lies, Jensen." Her voice rises, taking on a shrill tone. "You're not working with me. You've been lying to me, I know you have. You're not okay - and you haven't been for a long time. When are you going to tell me the truth?"

When I don't respond, she does slap me.

The sting barely registers at 0.1 on the pain scale, paling in comparison to the emotional anguish I've already suffered. I stare numbly ahead of me as she rises from the bed, clutching the sheets around her body.

"I'm going out," she says.

I cradle my smarting cheek in my hand, jaw clenching as I gaze dully at the wall opposite the bed. I gulp, the question slipping from between trembling lips before I can refrain from asking it.

"Going to see Dr. Ajith?"

Dani whirls around, her face a furious scarlet shade, eyes snapping. She stares at me, her mouth working, and the silence would have been answer enough without the final, unabashed yes she whispers.

***

When the nightmares hit at night, Dani hasn't returned and Misha isn't there to hold me.

My lungs cave in, heart threatening to give up, body breaking down as I bolt from the bedroom.

Overwhelmed with a sudden nausea, I wrench the sliding backyard door open and stumble out into the blackness. I make it about three feet before I'm leaning over the grass, fighting the wracking tremors rupturing through my body.

I surrender myself to pain so agonizing I can barely stand. Time isn't healing me. The pain hasn't dissipated since Misha broke up with me, somehow still as real and fresh as it was when he said goodbye, Jensen.

It's not stopping. Why won't it stop?

And why is it that, even now, I wouldn't swap the moment my lips first met his for anything in the world?

The shattering realization that I'll be falling for him for the rest of my life has my fingers grappling feverishly inside my pocket, producing my phone. They tremble as I dial the number of someone I should have talked to years ago.

It's indecently late and I'm slightly taken aback when he picks up, croaking out a wary hello.

"Jared," I wheeze, feeling like someone's punctured a hole through my lungs. "Oh, God - Jared."

"Dude, what the fuck? You're scaring me, man. If this is some kind of prank..."

I fight hysteria, words punching out of my lips and lungs and making absolutely no sense.

"Okay, calm down," he intones urgently. "You're having a panic attack-"

"It won't stop," I gasp, free hand clawing at the dirt by my knees, squeezing and fisting the dark soil with desperation. "I can't stop."

The earth tumbles through my fingers. I grip it so tightly my knuckles whiten, fists trembling as my heart ricochets inside me.

"Can stop what," he demands, concern lacing his voice.

"Can't stop," I breathe, tears searing my eyes, pouring down my face in scalding rivulets of liquid pain. "I'm trying but - I can't."

"Jensen, I'm trying to help you here. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on. What can't you stop doing?"

My hand flies up to grip my hair, raking urgently through the strands and fisting.

"I can't stop loving him," I release in a single breath. The confession carries the impact of a sledgehammer, knocking me off balance. I stumble forward, the phone nearly flying from my grasp as I struggle to right myself on hands and knees. An overwhelming relief courses through me, like a chilling balm. I welcome it, let it soak through my weary muscles.

Jared is silent for a long moment. The nothingness weighs heavy and thick over the line, threatening to smother me.

My arms shake as they struggle to hold me up, limbs loosening as the torrential flood of relief continues to surge through my veins and liquefy my limbs. They loosen uselessly, buckling under my weight.

I've told him. I've finally told him. After years of denial and evasion and lies, I'm dropping my pretenses. There's no going back now. And God, I don't want to. I don't want to.

"Damnit," I stammer breathlessly, my throat convulsing around the word. "Can't stop..."

"Hey, it's okay," Jared exhales. "Just - stay calm. Tell me who you're talking about."

It's on the tip of my tongue, dangling precariously. I will my mouth to form the name. It knows the precise weight and contour, the taste and feel of the achingly familiar sound.

I push it past my lips in a harsh exhale, my spent body staggering under the confession: "Misha."

"Okay," Jared tries, tentatively. "Okay... How high are you right now?"

I choke on a brittle laugh, passing a hand over my mouth.

"Not high," I insist, willing my voice to lose its tremor. "I'm not - shit, I'm in love with him, Jared. So - fucking - in love."

The line goes silent.

My shoulders sag even as the restraints snap and my burden drifts off like a weightless cloud. A knot unfurls in my gut and falls away, finally. Then, inexplicably, I'm laughing. I dig my hands into the earth and laugh, tears drying salty trails on my cheeks. It feels so damn good to admit this to him. So damn good.

I cast my eyes heavenward, to the milky orb shining in the cobalt sky. Finally.

I know there will be weighty repercussions following directly from this confession. I know there will be explanations, interrogations, accusations. But for right now there is just a crystal clarity, cool and refreshing and pure. I've told the truth and it's set me free.

And I know in this moment that I will confess to Dani. I don't know yet how much I'm willing to disclose, but I'm so tired. So fucking tired of the lying and pretending. I'm so tired of carrying this burden alone.

If she wants to divorce me, then so be it. I can't go another day like this; I fear I'll go completely, stark raving mad.

"Holy shit," Jared finally exhales.

My eyes sweep over my surroundings, as though taking them in for the first time. The precisely-trimmed grass, flourishing rose bushes, dark wooden steps leading up to the house illuminated by golden deck lighting. The realization of my whereabouts sinks in, a grounding tether.

I purse my lips, gazing around me at my lavish home. It occurs to me how ephemeral all of it is, all my possessions. I've started something I can't curb, a shitstorm of impending consequences. How long before all of this is torn from me?

"Holy fucking shit," Jared breathes again. I imagine him pacing around, hand raking through his chestnut hair in dismay. "You're...you...does Misha know?"

My mouth works, opening and closing uselessly as I struggle to convey the situation. I might as well come completely clean, about everything.

"We had an affair," I yield, casting my eyes downwards at the dirt webbing between my fingers and under my nails. My morality feels dirtier.

"Holy shit," Jared repeats, apparently dumbfounded. He's silent for another minute, processing my words. "You...the two of you...what the hell? Does Dani know? Is that why you were freaking out?"

"No, she doesn't know... But she will."

"Y-you're going to tell her."

"I have to." It will be awful, possibly gruesome. And once the media gets wind of it, everyone and their fucking mother will be plucking from this juicy orchard of scandal like vultures.

"Shit, man. I can't imagine how that'll go for you."

I press fingers to my aching temples, past caring about the murky streaks transferring to my face. "I still can't fucking believe this," Jared muses, almost comical with disbelief. "You like men."

"It's not men," I whisper. "It's just him."

Jared falters, clearly grappling for words.

"Okay, so it's not dick; it's one dick in particular. God," Jared groans, voice laden with exhaustion. "It's way too early in the morning for me to process this. Why are you telling me this now?"

I let a few moments pass before clearing my throat.

"I wanted to tell you sooner. I'm sorry."

I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw clenching around the truth slipping from my mouth. "But, um...we're not together anymore. And it's killing me, man."

My throat closes, bottom lip straining against a sharp quiver of emotion. "Jared, I want to get him back."