His Obsession, My Ruin

Chapter 1 Melanie's POV Normally silence comforted me, but tonight it was too deafening to bear. Why? Because that silence meant I was alone. I glanced at the door for the hundredth time. He was running late, again. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. A break from our busy lives, the job and an opportunity to be in the arms of the man I loved. But here I was, by myself, with nothing but the ticking of the grandpa clock in the hallway to keep me company. "A man who can't keep his time can't keep his life in check," I whispered to myself. It was something my dad liked to say, and recently he'd been saying it often. Especially pertaining to Idris, but he was wrong. His silly saying didn't apply to everyone. Idris promised he would be home early tonight, which was why I had gone out of my way to make his favourite meal. I even put on the dinner dress he picked out for our first Valentine's together, even though the fabric was already starting to dig into my underarms. The dress outlined my every curve, and I hoped that tonight, maybe he might just look at me the same way he did, with that hungry gaze that made my legs go weak. But here I was. I subconsciously went over the last four excuses he'd given. Work, traffic, meeting friends, and, most frequently, having a bad day. The sound of my phone ringing shattered the disappointing silence; I rushed to grab it, my heart leaping in hope. But my expectations melted away when I saw Aria's name flash on my screen. "Hey," I held the phone to my ear. "Oh. I thought you'd be knocked out from all the stress," she said. "I'm waiting for Idris to get back." I tried to hide the fatigue in my tone. She sighed; I could even picture her rolling her eyes, the way she did to everything I said. I couldn't tell if it was just because she was my best friend and was trying to look out for me. But Aria did not just dislike Idris; she disapproved of the idea of him. "Let me guess, he stopped to fix the Titanic on his way back," she said. My lips curled in a sad smile; it would have been better if that was the case. I hadn't heard a single word from him. "Something like that?" I lied. "I honestly don't understand what you see in him," she said. "Well..." I chuckled, my attempt at lightening the mood, "he's handsome—" "So are half the men in the city," she interrupted. "He cares about me," I said. My mind flashed back to the night he stayed up to watch me when I had a fever. I’d never felt so cared for. I held onto that night like it was proof. We'd had this same debate about a dozen times. "Then why doesn't he show it?" she said. "Because...he's working really hard to make something of himself. It's not fair to ask so much of him when he has so much on his plate," I said. This was the part where Aria would list all the "red flags" Idris had. None of which were substantial. She just said things like the way he peeled an orange or something equally as bizarre. But now, she just sighed. "I just want you to be happy; you know that, right?" she added. My heart warmed. "Yeah, I do, and Idris makes me happy." "Okay, if you say so. I just called to make sure you got home safe; I have to go now. Bye." "Bye," I said and ended the call. It took about five seconds of silence before my statement replayed in my head. "Idris makes me happy." A tiny voice in my head, one I had kept locked away, finally spoke. Was I really happy? The phone rang again, but this time it was Idris. Oh, thank heavens. I swiped to answer, my thumb trembling slightly. "Idris?" There was background noise, shouting, wind, and maybe sirens? Then his voice came through, low and frantic. "Melanie—call Lorraine. And come get me. I’m on Melrose, near that taco stand. Just—just hurry." "What? What happened?" I asked. But he didn’t answer that. Just cursed under his breath and hung up. I stared at the phone, my heart already racing. Then I grabbed my keys. *** I hadn't misheard; there were sirens. Police sirens. I got out of my car and rushed to Idris, who was standing next to a cop car, his face contorted in anger. Two officers flanked him, and they looked equally pissed. Knowing Idris, I could already tell this was bad. "Idris?" I called out, and all heads turned to me. By all heads, even the few spectators the scene had attracted turned their heads in my direction. I temporarily froze from the attention. Who wanted to be in the spotlight of a mess like this? "Did you call Lorraine?!" Idris practically screamed. Lorraine was our lawyer. I walked closer, heels clicking too loudly on the pavement. The streetlights above buzzed faintly. One of them flickered, casting flashes of Idris' shadow against the patrol car. And then my eyes landed on his cuffed hands. What in the world had he done? He turned to me, eyes wild. Still yelling. "I said call Lorraine! Do you know who the f**k I am?! I'll ruin you for this!" His voice cracked at the end. It didn’t sound powerful or even arrogant. It sounded desperate. I caught movement to the side: a shattered fire hydrant spewing water across the street. A woman stood nearby clutching a shivering Pomeranian, shouting just as loudly. "He could’ve killed me! That maniac almost ran us over! Arrest him!" Oh, so that was the problem. One more look at Idris, and it clicked instantly: he was drunk. Visibly drunk. That was bad. I froze. I didn’t want to have to do this, not with all these eyes watching, but I swallowed my resistance and approached the officers. "I’m his fiancée," I said calmly. "Please, can someone tell me what happened here?" He glanced at me with tight lips. "Speeding, DUI, destruction of public property, and disrupted traffic." "Attempted murder," the lady with the dog interjected. To be honest, she looked perfectly fine, yet she was screaming like a banshee. I swallowed. "Can I help? I can pay for the damage—" Idris tried to yank himself out of the officer's grip, yelling something about "privilege" and "entitlement." The officer turned fully toward me now. His expression shifted, not anger, not annoyance. Just pity. And sure as hell, that felt worse. "We're taking him down to the station; you can come along," he said. "Okay, sure." I got into my car and followed as they drove. For some reason I waited an extra minute in the car as they practically dragged Idris into the building. He was still resisting and still very loud. I'd seen him drunk before, but it wasn't this bad. He was cranky, but that was all. Looking at him now, I almost didn't recognize him. When I finally got the courage to step into the precinct, Idris was nowhere to be seen; the lady at the front desk said he was put in holding for being a nuisance… and maybe that was for the best. Thirty minutes later, the lawyer arrived. She offered me a small smile and just went straight to the nearest officer, introduced herself, and got to work. It all blurred together after that. I signed something. Answered a few questions. Waited in the car. Then two hours later, he was out. And he reeked of vodka. He slumped into the passenger seat without a word, like all the yelling had drained him dry. "Idris?" I cupped his face in my arms, trying to find the man I loved in those tired eyes. "Let's go home," he murmured and pulled away, looking out the window. I didn’t ask any questions; I didn't even know where to start, so I just started the car. The ride home was silent, except for the occasional groan as he shifted in his seat. He kept muttering under his breath. I didn’t catch most of it, but I heard "stupid cops" and "mistake" more than once. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. By the time we got back to the house, he could barely walk straight. I had to unlock the door, guide him inside, and help him sit down before he collapsed right there in the hallway. Then he threw up. All over the rug. The stench hit immediately. Vodka, stomach acid, and something sour that clung to the air. I grabbed paper towels, bleach spray, anything I could find, and started cleaning. My dinner dress stuck to my skin with sweat and disgust, but I kept scrubbing. This wasn’t the first time. But it was the first time it felt like something cracked inside me. Idris slurred something as he leaned against the wall. "I missed you…" I froze, my eyes stinging from the tears I'd been holding back. "I'm right here." I moved over to him. If you missed me, why didn't you just come home? Why do you make me wait? I bit back the question; there was no point asking him that now, not while he was drunk. I turned to get back to cleaning, but his fingers wrapped around my wrist, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not my fault; I don't have a choice." What?! Time froze in my mind. What was that even supposed to mean? Before I could ask, his eyes fluttered shut, and he was gone. I reached out and brushed the lapel, pretending to straighten it. I tried to resist the urge, but it was futile. I brought the fabric to my nose. No perfume. No sweetness. Just stale cigars and that sharp, bitter tang of cheap alcohol. It should’ve calmed me, but it didn’t. Relief and worry knotted together in my chest. I frowned. My Idris didn’t smoke, not anymore. Not since he triggered my asthma and almost sent me to the ER. But that relief twisted into dread. If it wasn’t another woman... Then what the hell was wrong?