Written for: @spnangstbingo
Pairing: Reader x Jared
Warnings:
self doubt, assumptions, condom (you’ll see), accusations (implied and not), cheating (implied), destruction of property, character death, unresolved issues…
Word Count: 1,508
Square Filled: Free Space
Summary: When the reader discovers something unusual in her night-stand, she begins to question her relationship with her husband.
A/N: Something personal I needed to flesh out- I tend to overreact and assume the worst in people and today it came to a head.
Something was niggling at the back of your head for what seemed like days. It wasn’t desperate to be sought out, however, it was making its presence known and the pebble in your stomach was becoming more like a rock as the sleepless nights passed.
You’d been married to the love of your life for roughly four years and together for over seven. Soulmates he had insisted; you were quick to quote Plato thus sealing you both together. To him, you were his unicorn: rare, special, and everything he had hoped to have in a loved one. He was everything you ever wanted in a man.
Relationships are tricky though- you read about them, your girlfriends talk endlessly about the ups and downs of their romances, you see what could only be pictured as too good to be true on the big screen. There were days that led to weeks that eventually seemed like months, where neither of you were intimate with the other.
His work schedule, your health, even the late night texts and skype calls were not enough. He constantly reminded you how beautiful you were; knowing you were having self doubts about your appearance. He would stare with such an intensity it was as if you were going to fade from his existence.
What any other woman would take to heart and be grateful for the attention, you were feeling trapped. His constant praises full of rightful intent were becoming trite to you, a necessity; his loving gaze into your soul was driving you mad as if he was hovering, frightened that you may break at any moment.
Jared had left early in the morning forgetting to set your alarm, which was usually a warm kiss to your forehead. Usually one to oversleep, your intuition woke you. There was that niggling feeling in your gut again. You had various phone calls to return, bills to pay, and by the time you realized you may be behind on one of the more important ones, regardless of your husband’s income and yours combined, the stress began to stir in your chest.
Tiny spindles threading together like a spider weaving a web; only this web was becoming tighter and tighter against your ribcage and the only thing it was catching was your breath.
Reaching into your night stand for your anxiety medicine, “to be taken as needed”, your hand rummaged around for the drugstore orange bottle, only to land on something you hadn’t felt, seen, or used in seven years.
A fucking trojan; its blue wrapper shiny and new, the label screaming, “lubricated for his pleasure” or something you couldn’t fathom, because, what the actual fuck, Jared, why is there a condom in here in the first place?
This was the last fucking straw to break your back and you did what any wife would do when she found something unusual; you took a damn photo of it on your cell phone and texted your husband,
Why is THIS in my nightstand?!
Breathe in…rage out…
It’s not even the ones we used when we DID use protection FYI.
There weren’t enough emojis to send and the ones you wanted to use would only ignite this further, so you inhaled, texted your best friend the screen shots of the on going message to your husband, and waited.
Dramatically, an eternity passed, but in actuality it was maybe two minutes top when Jared’s smiling face appeared on your phone, his text reading,
???I have no idea!!!!
We’re playing the husband without a clue card, you snarled through your teeth as you read the message again, as if there were a secret encoded reason as to why he was playing said card. You had nothing to go on so you became obsessed with the actual text itself. Who even uses that many exclamation points, you felt the anger boiling in your gut, your jaw clenching, teeth gnashing together, as you typed out your response,
Who is she, Jared.
Not a question; a full on accusation. You needed to see his face, so you pulled up the FaceTime application on your cellphone and it rang, its incessantly, high pitched, annoying tone, mocking you.
It rang.
Rang again.
Call has ended.
“Not on my end, you son of a bitch,” you threw you phone across the room and it shattered. Not bothering to pick it up, you hastily grabbed your overnight bag, stuffed whatever clothing you could manage, threw in your toiletries and makeup, and hightailed it toward the garage.
His metallic onyx Wrangler was taunting you while the keys to your own car, were gripped so tightly that they were pinching your flesh. Scratching a jagged scar into the driver’s side, you had hoped to trigger something, relief, you didn’t care, what aroused from the act.
You felt zero remorse, zero guilt; you felt nothing in that moment and it frightened you.
You stared at the flecks of paint on your pale and shaking fingers, looked towards the visible scarring on the truck, and only wished he felt an iota of the pain you were feeling. As you slammed your belongings into the backseat of your vehicle, you peeled out of the garage, and tore towards your best friend’s house.
As you sped, the limit on the highway, went out the proverbial window, you zigzagged in and out of the cars that were going too slow for your liking. That web that was building in your rib-cage was expanding more than it would allow you to exhale the anger that was making you see red; no, you weren’t seeing red, there were spots in front of your eyes, your breathing was becoming erratic, the sharp inhales of wanton breath leaving you for a lack of a better word, breathless.
They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes, but in your case, all you saw were those flitting spots in front of your eyes as the tears blinded you to the red light in an intersection.
Hey, you’ve reached the voicemail of YN YLN, I’m either screening my calls or busy, guess you’ll never know. Leave a message after the beep.
Beep.
Jamming the phone into his back pocket, Jared was infuriated. A literal chicken without his head, he was running around the set, bumping into the PAs and cameras, as he dashed to his trailer, Jensen hot on his trail. He had shown his best friend the text messages and felt horrible about not being able to take your FaceTime call, but Rich was running a tight ship. As soon as he yelled cut and print, Jared had made haste to get Clif to drive him home.
Jensen, trying to aide his best friend with reminders of breathing techniques he had learned throughout his therapeutic sessions was doing nothing but setting Jared’s meltdown into overdrive.
Shoving Jensen out of the SUV, Jared’s eyes blown from worry, the tears building but refusing to fall down his dimpled cheeks, he looked him in the eyes and swallowed, this is my fault, Jensen, mine.
Jensen knew what Jared meant; tried to persuade him to let him tag along, but Jared insisted, slamming the door to the SUV with such force. He watched as Clif drove Jared home, the black vehicle becoming just a speck in the distance.
Jensen swiped his code into his lockscreen and dialed your number, but it went straight to voicemail.
Hey, you’ve reached the voicemail of YN YLN, I’m either screening my calls or busy, guess you’ll never know. Leave a message after the beep.
Jared insisted Clif drive faster but he was quick to be stern with the young man, reminding him it wouldn’t do him no good if he was dead before he got to ya. The road leading towards your house became packed, cars nearly at a standstill. Flashing lights could be seen in the forefront and as the cars stopped to stare at the wreckage, Jared attempted your phone again. His heart beat picked up as he saw the compacted metal of what used to be your favorite car, a body bag being zipped up alongside the road, and an ambulance leaving the scene of the accident. Clif immediately noticed the make of your car, locked the doors to the SUV, and sped like hell towards the hospital.
You never thought it would end like this; but here you were, lying on your back, hooked up to various machines, unable to breathe, speak, or think. Otherworldly it was, watching the scene unfold before you. You husband was sullen, his skin taut and gray in color, his beard had grown in, and he hadn’t showered in days. He reached for your hand, urging you, begging you, to squeeze just once. You would admit later on when you were met on judgement day, that you were tempted to squeeze back. The fight in you, however, had ended the moment you heard Jared’s voice crack and the phrase that left you hollow,
Baby, I never meant to…
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