He stiffened noticeably as he heard the bedroom door open. He knew it was Susan, and he could feel his inner tension begin to mount again rapidly as she entered the room. Keep hold of yourself, man, he cautioned himself, knowing he was growing quite drunk. Don't say anything you'll be sorry for.

"Are… are you finished packing?" his young wife asked timidly as she approached the bed. "Can I help with anything?"

"No… no, I'm fine… just fine," he muttered in a low voice, avoiding looking at her.

"You've… you've been drinking," Susan said nervously as she eyed the half-filled glass of wine on the nightstand.

"Yeah, I've been drinking." Tim struggled to keep his composure, but he was well aware of the thinly disguised note of disapproval in her voice. Goddamn uptight bitch.

"Tim, it's not good to drink so early in the day… don't you think…"

"No, I do not think," he said abruptly, cutting her off mid-sentence. "I just need a drink to relax me, that's all. God knows I'm entitled to it after what you've put me through."

"Tim," Susan exclaimed, her eyes watering with hot tears, "don't say that. I know it hasn't been easy, but I'm trying, you've got to believe that."

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to once again take her in his arms and comfort her and tell her everything was all right, that he could wait as long as necessary for her to get over her anxieties. But he knew it would be a lie. He was sick and tired of waiting, sick and tired of having no sexual outlet, tired of being the dutiful husband. He glanced at her. The look in her eyes was pitiful, like a lost child begging for help. How could he be angry with her when she looked like that? He couldn't, for the plain fact was that he still loved her, loved her so deeply that it made his frustration all the more difficult to bear.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," he said finally. "I just don't know what to do anymore. The job's got me down, the bills are piling up… I'm going crazy, I guess."