The Billionaire's Fixation

Chapter Four: The Fight

Ava’s POV

The streetlights blur as I walk, their yellow glow illuminating on me. My mind is still a million miles away as I walk, trying to push through the exhaustion creeping up on me. It’s always like this. The days run into each other, a mix of work and a home life that feels like it’s unraveling at the seams. But what can I do? I have no other choice but to keep moving.

The apartment complex looks the same as I pull into the driveway, dim and quiet. It’s been this way for months. Or maybe it’s been years, and I just haven’t been paying attention. The peeling paint, the cracked windows, the weeds creeping up the sides of the steps all things I keep meaning to fix but never have the time for. Fixing other people is hard enough. Fixing the apartment surrounding is impossible.

I push open the door, and the familiar scent of stale air and fast food wrappers fills my nose. It’s the smell of my life, disorganized, chaotic, and stuck in a perpetual state of halfway done. I drop my bag by the door and sigh, too tired to even kick off my shoes.

Tyler’s still asleep on the couch, his body sprawled in an awkward angle, his feet dangling off the edge. The TV is on, but it’s turned to some infomercial that’s been looping for hours. He’s always leaving it on, no matter how much I tell him to turn it off when he’s done. It’s just another one of those small things I’ve stopped correcting because it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

I quietly move through the living room, past his unmoving form, and into the kitchen. There’s a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the leftovers of some quick meal he couldn’t be bothered to clean up after. I start to run the water, scrubbing the plates absentmindedly.

I’m so tired. My fingers ache from the constant movement, and my mind is clouded with the thoughts of everything I haven’t done yet. The bills. The phone calls I need to make. The fact that I haven’t done laundry in a week.

I push the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand. For a brief moment, it feels like everything else fades away. The noise, the pressure, it all quiets when I’m cleaning. Maybe it’s because I’m in control of this one thing. Maybe it’s because there’s something comforting in the repetitive motions.

I don’t hear him stir at first. But then, from the corner of my eye, I see Tyler sit up on the couch, his eyes squinting as they adjust to the light. He groans softly, rubbing his face like he’s just woken from a nightmare. The world seems to be moving in slow motion, and I can already tell what kind of mood he’s in today.

“Morning,” I say quietly, keeping my back to him as I finish the last of the dishes.

“Yeah,” Tyler mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. “Did you get the stuff I needed?”

I don’t answer immediately. I’ve been avoiding this conversation for days now. He’s been asking for money again, and I’ve been putting it off. Not because I don’t want to help him, I always do. But the money’s running thin, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

“Tyler,” I say, turning to face him. “We’ve talked about this before.”

He shoots me a glance from the couch, his eyes full of frustration. “I’m not asking for much. I just need some cash to tide me over.”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. It’s always the same with him. He thinks it’s just a small favor, one more thing I can give him to help him out. But it never stops. It’s a cycle that doesn’t end.

“You know I can’t keep doing this,” I reply, my voice trembling slightly. “I’ve given you everything I can. I’m barely keeping it together myself.”

There’s a long pause, one that feels too heavy. Tyler doesn’t answer right away, and I can see the anger simmering beneath his tired eyes. He runs a hand through his hair and stands up, pacing across the room like he’s looking for something to say.

“Well, maybe you should stop complaining,” he spits out, his voice laced with bitterness. “You think you’re the only one struggling here?”

I flinch at his words, but I don’t back down. I’ve heard it all before. Tyler doesn’t see the weight of what I’m carrying. He doesn’t understand that I’m running on empty emotionally, physically, financially and I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade.

“I’m not complaining,” I say, my voice tight with emotion. “I’m just trying to survive.”

He slams his fist on the counter, his face reddening. “Well, maybe if you actually cared about me, you’d help me out more. But no, you’re too busy with your own damn problems to care about what I need.”

I take a step back, the anger rising in my chest. My hands ball into fists, and for a second, I wonder if I can keep it together. But I don’t yell. I don’t throw a fit. Instead, I turn away from him, walking toward the door, and I pause before I leave the room.

“I’m doing the best I can, Tyler,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “But you need to start taking responsibility for yourself. I can’t fix everything for you.”

I walk out of the room before he can respond, feeling the weight of the conversation hang over me like a storm cloud.

I can hear him muttering something under his breath, but I don’t turn back. I can’t.

I head for the door, grabbing my jacket, and step out into the cool air, slamming the door behind me with a little more force than I mean to. The world feels too small today. Too suffocating. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.

I just need to breathe.