After calming myself, I take the steps two at a time and go to find my wife. I’m at the end of my rope. Something has got to fucking give, something to get her to realize that what is happening can no longer go on.
“Kadence?” I knock on the bathroom door and wait for her to answer. “Kadence,” I call again when she doesn’t respond. I know when she is stressed, when things become too much for her, she likes to hide in here. The first time she checked out, I found her sitting in the empty tub, staring vacantly ahead. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I walked in late one day with Low screaming in her crib, a confused Z by her side trying to keep her calm, and Kadence sitting in an empty shower, ignoring us all. It took me thirty minutes for her to come back, but it was like a piece of her was missing
“Kadence, just fuckin’ respond.” I knock again, that small unease in my gut twitches, and something unsettling has my next knock turning into a bang when my arm reaches up again. She doesn’t respond and the dread that forms in the pit of my gut twists into something that I wasn’t prepared for.
“Open this fuckin’ door before I knock it down.” My fear comes out as anger, but each second she doesn’t respond, is another second that my doubt takes over. I step back, lift my leg, and in one forceful kick, I break past the lock; the door flying back in a loud thud. My eyes scan the bathroom in frantic need to know she is safe, that she hasn’t done something stupid, something I would never forgive her for. My body convulses when I see her sitting on the shower floor.
Her head comes up, surprise written all over her face as if my entry into the bathroom is a shock. I can see she has been crying, but the despair and anger ripping through my body doesn’t let me register what she needs. I’m too pissed off.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I spit out, watching her body recoil from my words.
She recovers, but doesn’t respond, just looks at me so devoid of anything which only causes my anger to grow. Stepping forward, I pull the glass shower door open while she continues to look straight through me. My first instinct is to pick her up and shake some life back into her, but I know she’s so far in her head right now, it won’t get me anywhere. Instead, my hand goes to the tap, not bothering to warm the water, and I let it rush over her. Her gasp fills the small glass enclosed area right before she moves to escape, but I react quicker, holding my frame in the door way.
“Fuckin’ talk to me, dammit!” I shout and she trembles under my stare.
“Where the fuck were you?” She finally reacts, trying to push me out of the way. “You left. You said thirty minutes, Nix.” Her fists connect with my chest and her voice cracks as she begins to sob.
My arms come around her, pulling her wet body into mine, holding her while she screams out and comes undone. I fucked up. I know I did, but I can’t help feel a small glimmer of hope grow in me that she’s finally reacting. I hold her for a brief moment, the water still falling over her back, splashing both of us. I reach back and shut it off, holding her firmly in my arms.
“Just breathe, baby.” I reach for the towel and wrap her tightly in it. Silent sobs rack her body. “Deep breaths,” I encourage again, when I sense her losing the battle to control them. I fucking hate myself knowing I did this to her, but I don’t know how much more of it I can handle. It takes her a few more minutes before her breathing slows and her sobs finally fade.
I don’t move her, afraid to set off another round, so I hold her in my arms, praying I haven’t just fucked up shit even more. Hoping that eventually she will talk, because somewhere deep down inside of me, I have that sinking feeling. The one that tells me if things don’t change, I don’t know how much longer I’ll have her for. And not having Kadence in my life, is not an option.
It will never be a fucking option.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kadence
I sit on the side of the bathtub as Nix dries me off. My clothes stick to my body and my hair hangs over my face. I don’t say anything. I can’t even look at him let alone talk to him. How could he just leave me?
After I fed Low, Z came up and played with her a little while I sat and watched them. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was that set me off. Low was being fussy, as usual. Z was asking questions and as the time ticked over, Nix was getting later and later. It all became too much—my unease rose inside of me with each minute that passed. The pressure of when, or if he was even coming home at all amplified the panic that lay dormant in me.
“Baby?” Nix calls, pulling me from my thoughts. I used to like it when he called me baby, when he would touch me, make me feel beautiful, but now somewhere in my mind, the word baby doesn’t represent what it once did. His touch doesn’t soothe me like it used to, and not one part of me feels beautiful.
“What?” I shrug him off, not wanting his hands on me as I slide down from where he placed me.
“We need to talk about what happened.” He follows me into our bedroom, clearly looking for a fight. He does this all the time, pushing me deliberately until he gets the reaction he wants. It’s in those moments I feel like he is judging me.
“I’m really tired. I’m going to bed.” I turn and pull out sweats and one of Nix’s old club tees from my dresser.
“No, we are gonna talk now.” I ignore him, not in the mood for this tonight. Moving to walk past him, his hand comes out, wrapping around my bicep.
“Get the fuck off me,” I hiss, pulling out of his hold as he reels back at my tone.