Seriously?!?!

Bianca had been quiet. I had brought her here because I was sure she'd want to get up and dance. But I'd asked her several times if she wanted to, and she only shook her head. The waitress came and asked if we wanted dessert. "No, thank you," Bianca playing with the edge of the table. "Are you sure, babe? We could have cheesecake? Strawberry shortcake?" She glared over at me and I told the waitress. "No thanks. Just the bill." The waitress nodded and said she'd be right back with it. I nodded and turned to Bianca. "Ok, what is it, babe? I thought the idea of this night was for us to try to find our spark. Because it's kinda been lost ever since I went to the hospital. Are you afraid to touch me, babe? I'm fine." Of course, I hadn't gotten the results back yet from the tests they ran, but I knew I had to be fine. A stress attack. Nothing.

I looked up at him, shaking my head. It seemed like a good enough reason. But it wasn't the truth, and Jackson never lied to me, so I wasn't going to start lying to him. "No. Just..." I shook my head, standing up as the waitress walked back with the check, placing it on the table. "Just pay. I'll be out at the car." I left Jackson in the bar and headed out side. I hadn't had anything to drink, so I would be the one driving home tonight. It was the only time Jackson let me behind the wheel of his car. I hated driving for the most part, but if he was drinking, he needed a designated driver. I had been his since high school, but something told me I wasn't going to be for much longer.

I paid the bill and left the bar, walking across the street, after looking both ways, of course. After what happened with Abigail, I was a little paranoid. I came up to the car and slid in the passenger seat. "You know, I'm really not drunk," I told her as she started the engine. "You don't have to drive."

"Let's just go home, alright," I snapped at him, pulling out of the parking lot. "I really don't want to talk." He leaned over, placing his hand on my thigh, saying I haven't wanted to talk, let alone do anything else since he was in the hospital. I couldn't tell him it was because I was still feeling guilty over what Dante and I did. Still... I hadn't even told him I was feeling guilty over it in the first place. And I wasn't going to. I was taking that to my grave. Reaching forward, I turned on the radio. Ugh, country.

I turned down the radio. "I'm alright, babe. I didn't die. I'm not going to die. Please, just," I leaned closer to her, trying to nuzzle my face in her hair at her neck. She pulled away from me, jerking her arms on the steering wheel and making the car swerve slightly. I grabbed a hold of the console, looking up at her. "Ok. Ok." Sitting back up straight, I pulled my seat belt on. "Jesus Christ!"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, hating what's happening between us. But I didn't know how to stop it. I still loved him, right? You don't just fall out of love with someone because you kiss someone else and harbor the guilty feelings of it. No. Of course, I still loved my husband. Wiping away a tear that softly started to fall down my face, I whispered, "Can we just go home?" I hadn't stopped driving, but it was more of a question to ask if we could just go home and not talk anymore.

I nodded my head. "Yeah. Let's go home." Nothing was fixed. Nothing was better. But maybe it would be when we got home. We drove the rest of the way in silence.