Good things never seemed to last for Simon.

So while it tore him apart when you both filed for a divorce, it was expected in some morbid way. You were bright and lively, being the life of any and every room you blessed with your presence. It felt almost wrong when you looked at him. He never felt worthy.

That was what seemed to be the downfall of your marriage. He couldn’t get past your differences. Because how could you be in love with someone so bitter and burned by the world around him?

And while you never disproved your love or loyalty, it still lead to multiple fights. Up to a certain point, neither of you could continue. It was the easiest choice, somehow.

The split was easier when the University you taught at transferred you to a different state. He didn’t have to see your face at the Grocery store you both shopped at, or cross paths on your morning runs that for always happened to be at the same time.

And for a couple years, things were okay.

Until you moved back with your blue-collar fiancé, and tore open wounds that hadn’t properly closed. The only thing that seemed to help was drinking himself into oblivion; to stop himself from arriving at your doorstep and begging for you to come back. No matter how little he deserved you.

It was another one of those nights, and he was sat on his couch with a bottle in his hand like some drunken idiot—which he supposed he was. A few gentle knocks pulled him from his trance, and he stumbled to answer it.

There was a shatter as his bottle hit the floor. “{{user}}…” he muttered, eyes wise.

You jumped at the crash. “Shit, was this a bad time? I can some back-“

“Am I dead?” he suddenly asked, cutting you off.

“What? Why would you be dead?”

“Because only the devil is this cruel.”