✰-- 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬

The news arrives on my electronic doorstep two catastrophic weeks later.

With a stifled sigh I unlock my shared apartment door, already hearing the television playing from further inside, probably caging Fabio against the sofa, and it usually has him impossible to do anything other than kick off his shoes and coat by the door, immediately nestling his ass on that damn couch.

"I'm home."
Pulling my hair up into a bun, the stretcher tighter around my containment of coily curls, just to have the material smack to my skin, and leaving a burning mark behind.

This is exactly fucking why I use scrunchies, and not rubber bands disguised as them.

"Uh huh."
I hear a mumble towards me, looking up from my wrist turning busy turning itchy with irritation, and spot Fabio not even glancing up from whatever program he has played on Netflix.

Don't I just have the sweetest, most considerate and acknowledging boyfriend?

Deep, deep sigh.
Mentally of course.

Ignoring the words that wants to tumble out of my mouth, I instead move to our shared bedroom, picking up sweatshirts and pants that belong to my boyfriend along the way.

I'll never understand, just what, is so agonisingly hard about throwing clothes into a fucking laundry basket rather than leaving it where you last removed them from, your body.

When the itch beneath my skin is finally gone, and our room is somehow presentable enough to my taste, to the ignorance of the unmade sheets on the bed of course, I walk towards the closet that keeps our clothes.

It's winter, so I'm bundling up in one of my many onesies, cheap when it comes to shopping for clothes, and comfortably warm and adjustable for me at home self.

I couldn't wait to get to bed, sleep the top priority on my mind right now.

But first, the check in if I had any important emails, and the small flicker of hope that the acceptance letter would be waiting like a sweet glaze over golden brown donuts, in my inbox.

The switching on and logging in process being quick, as I browse through a different assortment of internet categories, briefly distracted by the mating of two leeches, disgusting and yet so fucking fascinating, as I at last open my emails.

A woosh of breath leaves me, and my eyes bulge in size when I click on the capitalized letters of KIM DELICACIES, hastily reading through its contents and a scream that I'm struggling to keep to myself and inside my throat, when I reach the peak.

We are glad to inform that you,
Miss Trustiath have been of the three candidates to be accepted.

Not as strong at witholding myself, an excited screech leaves me as I do a little victory dance.
Sure, it's just a little throw together of stuttering jazz moves and a little ass shaking, if it could be considered even that, but I was too happy to be fucking cringing at my sucking dance moves.

So enlightened that I dance my way into the little hallway, moving to the victorious trumpets and drums in my head as I move my body towards and into the lounge where Fabio is still focused on whatever scene is playing, not bothered enough to even lift his eyes.

That dampens the excitement a tad, before I'm brightening again.

A little forcefully this time, maybe.

"Honey!"
I screech as I come to stand in front of his view, his brows scrunched when looking up at me with narrowed eyes.

"Zia."
He sounds bored, and briefly I cringe into myself, mood dampening a whole lot more until I'm saying with a small smile.

"I got accepted?"
I don't know why I made it sound like a question, but my hands start clamming up the littlest and I wipe them to my jean cladded thighs.

Watching as my boyfriends expression seems to sour even more.

"You what?"
Confused, and I'm hoping that's the only reason why it seems his face wants to lean into itself with how tense and distraught it looks.

"I got accepted into headquarters.
You know,like I told you I applied -"
I'm interrupted by his chuckle, but even I'm alerted by how there seems to be no humour in it.

"You were actually accepted."
His teeth worry his bottom lip, at times I would usually consider it a sexy thing, but now it just looks as if he's trying to keep his actual opinions to himself.

"Y-yeah?"
I was unsure now, with the speeding of my heart, and the clench of skin between my brows at his reaction.

As if he doubted, I'd even make it in.
And it hurts, like a quick yet damaging stab piercing my skin.

"And you're what, going to leave me now?"
The words come out in a rush.
Loud, accusing and hastened.

"N-no, but we were excited, talking about us moving to Manhattan spring, I-I thought."
My words trail off into a silent whisper when he gives me an irksome look.

"No, you were excited, like fuck Zia.
The only reason I went along with your rambling was because I didn't actually think you'd make it.
And now you're -you're asking me to leave with you?
What about how I feel?
My hobbies?
My friends?"

"Honey, it's a two hour drive, we can come visit weekends, you know we need the money, with you-you not working and-"

"Oh, so because what, I'm not good enough now that I lost my job?
Do you have any idea how hard it's been to sit at home for the past six months, feeling like a bitch with her cunt in pain because of her menstrual cycle."
And all Zia says is, honey no, it's okay.
You'll get a job again, you'll this, you'll that.
Why do you never consider how I've felt?!"
He voice heightens in volume, and I hate myself as I flinch a little when he finishes.

Pathetic, that was the only thought reoccurring in my brain, but I bite my lip and keep my mouth shut, afraid.

I could wait just a little more, until I've made enough money to get away from him without any consequences.

I sigh and let my shoulders sag a bit before answering him.
"Let me speak.
I'm doing this for us, I'm doing it because we eat 3-dollar cheap homemade noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I want this opportunity, and the benefits it'll be able to bring.
Imagine it baby, I'll be able to keep us financially stable better for the time being than my job now, you'll be able to be more relaxed as you go job hunting.
Like,don't you - don't you think we need this?"

I don't mention that I could count on my one hand how many times he's been out on search for a job, or even surfed the internet for any job openings, neither do I mention that most of our expenses goes out on him and his obsession on keeping up the image that he can still hold a barbecue with his homies when we barely have enough to get through the month already.

I was so sick of dealing with this, with having to be the one the both of us depends on.
If he could just work with me and not against me for once, it would make everything so much better.

"Oh fuck off, job hunting is shitty as it is, and who the hell wants to work at a gas station or grocery store?
I won't bow that low just for money.
But who cares, we've been doing just fine-"

"No, no we haven't.
Our bills are growing more and more Fabio, and I don't think I'll be able to handle it for much longer, I - I need help.
More specifically, I need this opportunity."
I don't care that I just interrupted him, and I ignore his puzzled and shocked gaze at my brazenness.

I was sick of the exhausting petty excuses. We were very much far from fine, and he needed to stop acting like his dick was still the size of my bare engagement finger and pull up his big boy pants to face that he is actually an adult.

"Zia, are you really willing to do this?
Just for some stupid dream?
You're willing to leave sweet sweet paradise, and just give it up to go live a big city?
How do you even know you'll make it?
How do you know you're good enough and won't be let off in the first month?
Why is this even so important, and are you even worth what they're offering you?"
I'm sure our neighbours can hear us by now, but they wouldn't care.
After all, just yesterday it was them.

And also, I'm shocked to silence, my crippling self-esteem breaking with each of his words, but I bite my tongue instead.

Just bide your time.

Unfortunately, the jabs hurt more and more until I feel tears brimming my eyes, and I have to swallow past the painful knot in my throat to keep from crying.

This wasn't hatred in my heart, I couldn't hate him, not after all his done for me, right?

Finally, it seems to dawn on him what he just said, and his face draws back to a cold expression without showing a hint of being impassioned or regretful.

He actually meant it.

"What you call sweet sweet paradise stopped being paradise immediately when I finished my studies.
When I realized that not only did I have to look out for myself, but for a third-degree linguist who is too full of pride to even want to work at a gas station, even if it would help his girlfriend with the bills.
No, all it feels like now, is hell."

__

ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀsᴇʜɪɢʜ

(𝑛.) 𝐀 𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
      𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝