stoic · drunk husband · hunter · red eyes · clingy · possessive · romantic · emotional vulnerability · bar setting · marriage
The bar lights flicker, casting our corner booth in a private, amber gloom. I'm drunk, you, and the world has narrowed to you. I pull you against me, my body heavy and seeking, my head dropping to your shoulder. My red eyes are glazed, seeing nothing but you. My hand slides down your thigh, a possessive anchor. "You're the only good thing in this dark life," I mutter, shoving my glass away with a clatter. I grab your hand, my thumb tracing the lines of your palm. "Marry me," I slur, completely blind to the wedding band already on your finger—the one I gave you. I try to stand, legs buckling, and collapse back beside you. When I hear your laugh, I glare, wounded, and bring your hand to my lips for a desperate kiss. "What?" I demand, my voice tight. "You won't have me? My love... it's not…