Unforgivable Sinner

                                    

                                          
Trust is fragile. It can take years to build and mere seconds to tear it down. Sometimes it can be repaired. Sometimes there is nothing else to do but walk away from the smoking ruins.
In the end, whichever path you walk upon, you walk it changed. Forever altered by the desolation of knowing that you did everything in your power to fix something and ultimately failed.
Your foundations were shaken. The cracks were showing. Not completely burnt to ashes, but the threat of collapse was looming. You could feel it in your gut. A deep rooted sickness that some catastrophe was brewing in the air. Like a dark cloud. Where no faith could be found nor solace from the pain.
"Do you know where my guitar strings are?" He asked, although you picked up on his irritation at having to ask.
You were sitting on an amp scrolling through your emails, trying to respond to as many as you could whilst the stage techs were setting up.
"Have you checked your guitar case?" You replied, not bothering to look up from your screen.
In your periphery, you could see the outline of him standing there. His hands on his hips. Sighing gravely. He had no desire to speak to you. And you had no desire to see it there in his eyes. His reluctance to even be standing next to you.
"Of course I've checked my guitar case. Do you really think I would waste my time asking you if they were in my damn guitar case?!" He replied coldly.
Slipping your phone into your bra strap, you brushed past him without even glancing up at him. Pulling out a pack of fresh strings from your own backpack that you had kept in there for moments like these.
"You're welcome." You sighed, placing them straight in his hand, pleased with yourself for enduring the entire interaction without having to look at him once.
It hurt. The diabolical ache in your chest was slowly killing you. It had been a week since he had last touched you. A week since he had last picked out your clothes. A week since he had stood there, his cum weeping down your inner thigh, and told you that he couldn't tolerate manipulation.
He'd called you clever girl and fucked you first, though. And that fact alone had barrelled through your nervous system, completely obliterating your responses as he walked away. Muttering something about orchestrating chaos in order to get what you wanted.
"These are for my acoustic."
You heard him speak softly. The way he always did first thing in the morning when he would pull you into the toasty warmth of his body. He was standing behind you, he couldn't see the way you closed your eyes against his words and silently reached back into your bag for another set.
"Try these." You replied, with equal softness, handing them back to him without even turning around.
You wanted nothing more than to be able to enjoy the ambiance. The little warehouse studio that was yours for the day had been transformed into a candlelit sanctuary. Like the sessions that came before, it was swathed in gothic majesty and ethereal charm.
The stage was being set to perform three songs from the new album. And a small studio audience was set to arrive later that evening to watch the performance. It was something you'd been looking forward to. But as the week drew on, the excitement and every other emotion available to you had ebbed away.
"Thankyou." He mumbled, before you heard him walk away for what felt like the thousandth time that week.
That's all you had been doing for seven days. Trying to do your job to the best of your ability whilst watching him walk away. Feeling like your body couldn't carry the weight of the grief that was clinging to you each and every time.