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TIRED OF PERFORMING

Author: Dchenemi
last update publish date: 2026-09-22 05:18:49

I leave while he's still frozen, taking the one second his shock buys me and running with it.

It's the first time in six years I've used my own scar as a weapon against him. The thought sits strange in my chest the whole ride home, not quite guilt, not quite satisfaction, a tangle of both twisting low in my stomach. My hands won't stop shaking against my knees. Streetlights smear gold across the window. I press my forehead to the cool glass and let the city blur.

For six years I hid it carefull
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  • 30 Days To Divorce Mr Malcolm    SOMEONE ELSE

    SORENLiz is still crying when I sit down beside her.It's the quiet kind now, and she's twisting my handkerchief into a rope between her fingers. I pour tea into a clean cup and push it across the table. Her hand shakes so badly the cup chatters on the saucer."Hey. Drink that.""I can't!" She presses the back of her wrist to her nose. "She hates me, Soren, and she's right to! Every time I come here I make it worse, and I still keep coming. What is wrong with me?""Nothing's wrong with you. You felt guilty about the rain, that's all.""You were sick!" Her voice splinters. "You were in this house with a fever, and I was in my apartment staring at my phone like an idiot, and I couldn't stand it! I just needed to see you were breathing!"It gets me, the way it always has. Her tears go straight through the part of me that's supposed to stay sensible, and I hate that I can't sit next to them and do nothing. I put my hand over hers until the shaking slows."I'm breathing, Liz. Look at me.

  • 30 Days To Divorce Mr Malcolm    STANDING BY THE DOOR

    VENICESoren's footsteps come back down the hall, and I know the second he stops in the dining room doorway what he's looking at.Elizabeth is bent over in his chair, crying into his handkerchief. He's across the room before I can finish my toast, crouching beside her knees with one hand on the armrest."Liz. What happened? I was gone two minutes.""She won't forgive me!" Her breath hitches on every word. "I apologized, Soren, I said it over and over, and she just kept eating like I wasn't even here! What else does she want from me?"He lifts his head and looks at me. It's the look he gives Nathan when a deal goes wrong, level, with a lecture sitting right behind it. "What did you say to her?""The truth." I hold his gaze while I pick up my cup and drink the last of my tea, because I refuse to let him see my hand shake. "Ask her what it was.""She said I could have you!" Elizabeth's voice cracks in half. "Like you're a leftover she doesn't want to finish!""That's the part you're goin

  • 30 Days To Divorce Mr Malcolm    HAVE HIM

    VENICEI answer Julian at six in the morning, before I can talk myself out of it. (Yes. Saturday at seven.) Then I sit on the edge of the bed with the phone in my lap and a ridiculous, nervous flutter in my stomach, because ever since I made the decision to leave, I've found that there's more outside this marriage, so much more. And the thought of it excites me more than anything else.When I get downstairs, Soren is already at the table.He should be in bed. Belle told him so twice, and I told him once, loudly, and he ignored us both. He's sitting there in a gray sweater with a blanket over his knees and a cup of tea going cold in front of him, his face as white as the tablecloth with his laptop up and running, and when I come in he tries to smile."Morning.""You should be upstairs." I can't help the chill in my voice, after last night, creating enough distance between us was neccesary. I couldn't let myself be swayed like I almost was."The fever's gone down. Belle took it twice

  • 30 Days To Divorce Mr Malcolm    HIS ARMS AROUND MY WAIST

    VENICESoren stays quiet, surprisingly, he doesn't tell me not to speak about his precious Elizabeth that way.The silence feels like it lasts forever.The car has barely stopped in the driveway when Soren opens his door and climbs out, and the first thing I notice is that he doesn't get far. He puts one hand on the roof, and his knees bend slightly, as if the ground has tilted under him, and he stands there swaying with his head hanging and his breath coming in short, uneven puffs."Soren?""I'm okay." He says it to the gravel. "Just a bit dizzy.""You're not fine." I'm out of my side and around the bonnet before I've thought about it, my hand clamping onto his elbow. Even through the wet sleeve, he's too warm. "You're swaying like a drunk.""I haven't had a drop." He gives me a small grin that has me rolling my eyes."I know, you idiot. Walk."The front door flies open before we reach it, and Belle stands there in her dressing gown with her gray hair in a plait and one hand pressed

  • 30 Days To Divorce Mr Malcolm    APOLOGIES

    VENICEBy ten that night, I've read the comments under that clip so many times I could recite them in my sleep, and every time I swear I'm done, my thumb sneaks back to the screen like a tongue to a broken tooth. I leave Grandma snoring with her mouth open and her braid across her chest, kiss her papery forehead, and go down the stairs because I can't stand to be shut in a lift with strangers.The rain has thinned to a drizzle. I push through the main doors with my coat half buttoned and my eyes on my shoes, and I'm three steps into the car park when my heart drops straight through the soles of my feet.He's standing by his car under the lamp.No umbrella. No coat. His shirt is plastered to his shoulders, his hair is flat across his forehead, and water runs off his chin in a thin, steady stream, and he's shivering so hard I can see it from here. He straightens when he sees me, but he doesn't come closer. He just stands there with his arms wrapped around himself like a kid who's been t

  • 30 Days To Divorce Mr Malcolm    SSHE BROUGHT A CAMERA

    VENICEBy two o'clock on Thursday, Grandma has taught the woman in the next bed to cheat at rummy, and I'm sitting on the edge of her mattress spooning custard into her mouth while she complains that it tastes like wet paper."Open," I say."I'm seventy-eight, not seven." She clamps her lips shut and glares at the spoon like it owes her money."Then act like it. Open."She opens, grumbling, and swallows, and from the next bed Mrs. Abbot cackles over her hand of cards, a retired schoolteacher with a voice like a squeaky gate and not an ounce of shame. For the first time in four days I'm laughing properly, the kind that makes my eyes water and my shoulders loosen, and I let myself forget there's a whole city outside the window with my face in it.Then I smell gardenia.It slides through the doorway ahead of her like a hand closing around my throat, sweet and warm and heavy, and my spoon stops halfway to Grandma's mouth."Venice?"Elizabeth is standing just inside the door in a cream coa

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