Damnation Leon - Tumblr Posts
Only Love Can Break Your Heart
You've had enough of not being your own person. You aren't a division of him, your husband, nor the women he sleeps with when he's bored of you.
a/n: if you haven't read the book by katherine webber GO READ IT NOW ITS SO GOOD I CANT EVEN WITH YOU !! this is inspired by that except married couple divorce not really uh yeah i needed to get those out of my system to work on requests!
tw: angst, no happy ending, mentions of smut, non explicit nsfw, mentions of drinking problems, alcohol, stuff yada yada
wc: 1.7k
When you called him from the city, you knew even despite his grumbling of the long drive, he would still make it. Still take his rusty old car all the way out here, just for you, to plead for your forgiveness. Without meaning to, you’d memorized every part of him.
That’s how you knew he’d changed.
The man sitting next to you, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, jaw set in parallel to the tight lines around his lips, pain coursing through the burnished planes of his cheekbones, setting flame to the skin you once longed to touch.
As you watch him drive, the silence between you feels heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You can feel the distance growing, like a vast chasm separating the two of you. His eyes, once the most gentle shade of the sea, now seem distant and guarded.
“Stop looking at me,” he grits out from behind his teeth.
“I’m not,” you say softly, gaze fixing on his hands.
“I can feel it.”
“Do you feel guilty yet?”
The edge of his lip curls. “No, because I don’t know why the fuck you’re mad at me!”
But he knows he’s lying.
He knows exactly what he did.
<><><><>
You thought it would be just another casual Sunday afternoon, popcorn punctuating the muffled TV in the other room. You kicked off your slippers, lounged carelessly on the couch, waited for Leon to come home.
But he’s three hours late, three thousand ticks of the clock away from when you expected him, and when he stumbles through the door, the only way you can tell he’s drunk is the slight lean he has, wobbling to the left as he slumps into your arms.
Your foot taps a rapid pace on the wooden floor, arms crossed, uninviting. You’ve been awaiting a drinking problem, you know his past, but you weren’t expecting it so soon.
First come the tears. Your husband is a dramatic man, and although you’ve waved off an occasional drink or two, the heartfelt apologies whispered between your thighs, he’s wasted enough to let those walls come crashing down, tumbling all around you, leaving only the remnants of the sea pooling in your sweatshirt.
Then, after he’s wiped his eyes and gained enough courage to look at you, come the profuse apologies that slip past his lips, wind down your shoulders and prod your chest, seeking forgiveness from your heart. So accustomed to the quiet, obedient life you had both been living, you don’t give it easily.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just couldn’t stop thinking that maybe it was you, and maybe our life is a bit boring, and maybe you do the same things sometimes and don’t tell me, and she said it was all okay-”
“She?” you interrupt, voice far too gentle. “Who’s she?”
"She... she was just a distraction," he stammers, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear. It was stupid, I know, please, don't leave me. I love you, I'm so sorry."
His words echo hollowly in the empty space, each syllable a dagger twisting in your bloody chest. Tears trace paths down your cheeks, rivers of sorrow as you look up at him, bleary eyed, trying to comprehend why he would ruin everything.
"I trusted you," you whisper, your voice barely above a broken sob. "I thought we had something real, something worth fighting for. How could you do this to us?"
His silence is deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of emotions that swim through your legs, rendering them useless. You feel lightheaded, dizzy, and some small part of you wants to blame yourself.
It must be your fault, the voice taunts, pleads, even. You were just too boring for him. You can change, can’t you?
You find yourself standing on the precipice of what could change your life, a rocky cliff, toes poking out against the edge. What would your life be without him?
"Please, it won't happen again," he pleads, his voice cracking. "I swear, I'll do whatever it takes to make this right. I love you more than anything, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."
A part of you longs to believe him, to cling to the hope that this nightmare could be just a momentary lapse in judgment, a cruel twist of fate. His fingers are creeping around your waist, snagging you like a fish on a hook.
In a way, you assume, you are as gullible as that.
With a heavy heart and a trembling voice, you whisper, "Okay, I trust you." The words taste bitter on your tongue, a bitter pill swallowed in the idea that you’re only trying to salvage what’s left.
But deep down, a seed of doubt blooms into a thorny vine that wraps itself around your wounded heart. Can trust truly be rebuilt from the ashes of his thin apologies, or are you simply setting yourself up for more heartache down the road?
You shake your head as he disappears into the bathroom and the sound of running water covers up your soft sniffles. There’s a determined, confident, trustful smile on your face that only seems slightly forced.
Leon’s a good man.
It won’t happen again.
<><><><>
But it happens again, and again, until all you come home to is the draft blowing in through the vent and a cluttered house. You suppose you should be grateful you’ve never had children. It’s happened so many times.
And every time, you forgive him like a bitch in heat, like a teenage girl so desperate for him, for your fake image of love, even when you know he’s toying with you. Did he ever care? You fool yourself into believing that when he pushes you into the wrinkled, old cotton sheets, or when he buys you those fragrances you eye whenever he takes you out to shop.
You’ve forgotten the meaning of love, what it means to be cared for, how it feels to be cherished. In his eyes, those beautiful, sullen eyes, you are nothing but another responsibility, another burden, another chore.
You want it to stop. You want to stop feeling this way. So you turn the tables on him, that night, when the door creaks open and his footfalls echo through the house, it's empty.
There’s a note left on the table from you, signed in that sweet, loopy handwriting you thought he admired. Leon… blah blah blah, visiting friends, need some time to myself… all just empty thoughts from a mind that knows nothing but pain.
The letter ends up in the bin that day just before he calls one of the numbers saved in his phone. It lies there, forgotten, as the sounds of muted kisses seem to crinkle it even more.
<><><><>
You watch them in the taxi, through the camera you had set up in the houseplant that you knew Leon never bothered to look at. Is that all you are to him? A drooping aloe vera, lost all its nutrition and sun, useless?
They make out wildly, planting kisses everywhere, and you realize that maybe he never loved you to begin with. Maybe this was all just a joke to him. You can see the tray of cookies you made last Christmas, when everything seemed fine.
He had pushed you onto the island, crowding between your legs, grinning up at you. “You know I hate all that sugary shit,” he had whispered, nosing the area between your neck and jaw.
“Should’ve replaced it with salt, then,” you mumble to yourself, biting your lip to suppress the sob that claws at your throat. You exit the app, then delete it.
You’re never going back.
Leon’s not a very good man.
<><><><>
Your nights are restless, tossing and turning, when your friend groans and flicks on the lamp, expression immediately softening at your pained eyes.
She gathers you in her arms, lets you cry into her, soaking up your agony. You’re glad she doesn’t chastise you, tell you how she had seen this coming ages ago. Maybe you should start listening to your friends when they warn you about men.
He tries to reach out to you, to bridge the gap that has formed between you both, but each time you pull away, walls impenetrable with your friend standing guard behind them. The ache in your chest grows with each passing moment, a constant reminder of what once was and what can never be again.
You start taking classes again. He had stopped you, deemed it was ‘unladylike’ to be studying. You had agreed with him like a fool, stupidly nodding your head to whatever came from his mouth.
Your friend is there through everything. You only wish you had told her how much you appreciated her help when you call Leon, ready to pry him from your thoughts.
<><><><>
You finally reach your destination, the weight of the unspoken goodbye hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is the end, that the love you once shared has turned to ashes.
“We could’ve made it work,” he argues, once again, running a hand through his darkening hair. Everything about him seems somber now, more depressed. You suspect that the alcohol has finally caught up to him.
And faintly, with pride, you realize that you don’t care.
“You and I both know that’s a lie,” you seethe. “We were never going to work, because I will always be too boring for you. Just a toy, right? I’m done with your shit!”
You don’t let him get the last word. That would nag you far too much. So you walk away from him, from the image of you that clung to him every waking moment, your back a silent farewell.
If he had broken up with you, what, a week ago, you would be left alone with the shattered pieces of your heart, knowing that you might always be missing a piece of yourself.
But now…
Now?
You are whole.
don't mind the shitty signature - i have no energy to turn my tablet on to give a proper watermark </3