Chapter 8 You are a liar.

Later that day…

I sit on the edge of the bed, exhaustion weighing heavily on me. The events of the day replay in my mind—the hurtful words and the undeniable distance between George and me.

It's clear that our marriage has reached a point of no return.

George's lack of feelings for me has become painfully evident; his request for a divorce is a stark reminder of his indifference. I can no longer bear to stay in this place, where I am unwanted and unloved.

Tomorrow, I will leave this house, this life that holds nothing but sorrow and unrequited love. With a heavy heart, I begin packing my remaining belongings into another suitcase.

As I finish packing, weariness washes over me, pulling me toward sleep.

Just as I close my eyes, my phone rings, jolting me back to reality. I check the phone and notice the name, Jason.

It's George's friend.

I wonder why he is calling me. I push away my questions and answer the phone.

"Hello…"

"George is drunk. He is unconscious in a bar. Please come quickly and pick him up." His voice is filled with concern and urgency.

A mix of emotions surges within me. Anger, frustration, and a lingering sense of duty clash in my mind.

George left with Megan, completely ignoring my presence. Then he got drunk, I don’t know why.

Why is his friend calling me? Why is he not informing Megan instead?

I am furious.

A bitter smirk tugs at the corners of my lips, realizing that George must have left Megan behind and found himself in a drunken mess. The irony of the situation is almost laughable.

"Why are you calling me instead of Megan? Shouldn't you be asking her to come and pick up George?"

"Ah, the apathetic wife who's ready to leave her husband for another woman," Jason said sarcastically. "Quite a sight, isn't it?"

My blood boils at the audacity of such an assumption.

"You have no right to pass judgment without knowing the truth," I snarl coldly. "Don't assume you understand the complexities of our situation."

My initial instinct is to end the call and detach myself from the chaos that seems to follow George wherever he goes. But before I can disconnect, Jason exclaims, "Look, I don't have much time. I have something important to take care of, and I can't stay with George for long. Just come quickly, will you?"

Frustration mixes with a sense of duty, pulling at my heartstrings. Despite the pain he has caused me, I can't simply abandon him in his intoxicated state. I can't ignore the fact that he is in trouble and that he needs someone to look out for him.

As much as I despise the situation, there is a lingering sense of responsibility that I cannot shake off. I sigh deeply, knowing that this is yet another task that falls upon me as the responsible one.

I grab my purse and dash out of the house. I stop a cab and ask the driver to take me to the Moonlight Bar.

It is the same bar where I used to go and vent my frustration whenever I was upset. I stopped going there ever since George came into my life.

I sigh and wonder why he has gone there. My mind is full of questions as I look at the rapidly moving scenery.

Several minutes later…

I step out of the taxi, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation.

The bar stands before me, its flickering neon sign casting an eerie glow on the dimly lit street. Memories flood my mind as I take a deep breath and push open the heavy door, the familiar scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke enveloping me.

Inside, the bar is bustling with activity. The air is thick with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses.

I navigate through the crowd, scanning the dimly lit room in search of George. My eyes lock on a figure leaning back on the sofa with his eyes closed, disheveled and lost in a sea of empty glasses.

My steps falter as I approach him.

"You are finally here." Jason comes over to me. "I got to go now. Please take care of him."

He simply walks out.

I watch his figure disappear from my sight and then look back at George.

George, once so composed and confident, now appears vulnerable and broken. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, and his hair is disarrayed, evidence of a night gone awry. There are vomit stains on his shirt.

I have never seen him like this before.

Taking a deep breath, I gather my courage and make my way towards him. The clinking glasses and boisterous laughter fade into the background as I reach his side.

I hesitate for a moment, observing him from a distance, trying to reconcile the image before me with the man I once knew.

"George…" I tap on his shoulder.

He raises his head slightly, his bleary eyes meeting mine.

"It's time to go home," I say softly, my voice laced with a hint of concern.

He blinks slowly, struggling to focus. His lips form a faint smile, tinged with remorse. I can see the weight of his actions etched on his face, and a pang of sympathy stirs within me.

As I help him to his feet, his arm slung over my shoulder, I can't help but feel a sense of déjà vu.

This bar, once a sanctuary for my frustrations, now holds a different significance. It's a reminder of the complexities of our relationship and the challenges we face.

Leaving the bar behind, we step out into the night, the cool breeze washing over us. The taxi awaits, ready to carry us home.

With the help of the driver, I put him into the car. As soon as I step in, the car starts running down the street.

I guide George into the house, the weight of his body pressing against me. His stumbling steps threaten to throw us off balance, but I persevere, determined to clean him up and make him comfortable.

Every movement feels like a struggle as I navigate the narrow hallway, the scent of alcohol clinging to the air.

Finally, we reach the bathroom, its tiled floor cool beneath my feet. I support George as best I can, urging him to stand upright while I gather the necessary supplies.

His unsteady gaze meets mine, clouded with the remnants of intoxication. I see a spark of defiance flicker in his eyes, and my heart sinks.

As I attempt to guide him onto the toilet seat, I almost lost my balance.

"Ah…" I hug him instinctively.

My heart is thumping. Before I could calm down, he grabs my arms and pins me against the wall.

"George," I say softly, my voice tinged with concern. "What are you doing?"

His gaze pierces mine. He tightens his grip and snarls, "You… you are a liar."

I am stunned and gape at him, trying to process his words.