The taste of the red wine always seemed bitter compared to the authentic restaurant it was being served in, but wine was rarely the important endeavor of our date nights. The surreal atmosphere mixed with the gourmet five star meal wasn't important either. We attempted these nights at least once a week to see if it would give off a spark of some kind, any kind of viability. Something to bring life back into our relationship. After ten years, it seemed pessimistic to continue on with these costly dinners, but with the hope of that one single spark, we sit across from each other in the expensive resort of golden plates and silverware kissed with platinum. We would always have hope. At least I did. I'm not sure about Alex.

It was always the same setup. Alex would sit on the opposite side of me facing the window of the damp city-life (It was covered in a blanket of white snow today). I always got the decorated walls with the front desk usually in eye view with its female receptionist standing in wait for more customers to pop in. Our routine never changed and we had no desire to have any type of change occur. It was our pattern and we stuck to it.

Alex is an amazing wolf. I really can't think of anything negative about him... well, except the fact that he tends to get angry way too easily and it's hard for him to show compassion at times. I don't know why I've stuck with him for the past decade, but something keeps me glued in place. Maybe these dinners are trying to tell me something and I'm just so mute against what's right in front of me.

I guess it's not always a bad thing. Sometimes I'm just not in the mood and it works out in the end, except for the anger issues. Those are just plain awful. There are times though where I wish he would lay a paw on my thigh when were sitting on the couch watching our shows. Something more than the occasional glance with his amber colored eyes and the rare gesture for me to rest my head on his broad shoulder or obsidian colored chest. Hell, it's a blue moon for us to even tell each other that we have feelings for one another, that "I love you" statement seems sparse for us.

It makes me cringe when I tell myself that it doesn't matter when it truly does. It makes it impossible to sleep at night and I loathe it. I just wish it was better. 

Alex was taking a sip of his wine when he said with a smirk, "I'm surprised you picked this place. The italian place down the street has way better wine. Feels like I'm drinking bath water right now."

"If you wanted to go there," I mumbled, "then you should've told me."

He sneered at my tone, "I shouldn't have to. You know how much I love wine."

"Over your own boyfriend?" His scorn always angered me. The fire in his eyes veering against me made me feel like I was the one who was at fault instead of his own greedy lust.

"It's just wine, hun. We can go to your favorite place next week." but then I mumbled with gloom, "like we always do."

"Oh," he hollered, "so what, you don't enjoy my taste in food?! Is that it?!" I realized I was backing myself into a corner when he started yelling at me, in public no less, so I tried the only reasonable thing I could say. I said, "No. Don't worry about it. I'm just... talking to myself." The curious looks from the other patrons seared into my fur and I wanted nothing more than to leave.

Then he slammed his paws on the table "Then what is it, Rory?!" The entire room went silent. The waitresses and patrons stood perfectly still and all eyes were on us, the arguing couple in the dead center of the restaurant. I tried my best to hide, sinking myself in the chair as I held my paws together in my lap.

"Can we just go now? You're making a scene again." Blood rushed to my face in embarrassment. Why did he always do this. We rarely finished our meals without a burst of anger coming from his muzzle in bouts of complaints or demands.

He took a giant gulp from his wine and slammed the glass on the ground, the rest of it splashing and tainting the wooden floorboards. "Fine, let's go. This place sucks anyways." He stormed from his chair and threw on his tan overcoat from the rack, the cold air from outside hitting the receptionist in a splash of winter wind. After I had to talk to the owner and apologize for what happened, I threw my jacket over my brittle body and walked outside. The winter air kissed my face with a harsh slap.

I looked around for our car and couldn't find it anywhere. He already left. "Dammit." I cursed to myself as I tossed my hood on and started walking home to our apartment about twenty blocks away. Why did I have to pick a place so far away. I should've known this would've happened. It happens almost every time. It's gotten a lot worse over the years, but I hoped today would've been different since it was our ten year anniversary. Guess you can't always wish for the simplest things, can you?

I thought about what I was going to say to Alex as I padded through the snow-dense sidewalks in my leather jacket, blue jeans with a little hole on my thigh and a pair of sneakers on. I know, not the best outfit for winter… but I normally don't plan on walking home. I can already picture the yelling and screaming I'm going to have to endure when I get home.

After about an couple hours of walking, I finally arrived at our apartment door. Unlocking it, I stepped inside to find nobody was home. The lights were off and no sign of life was around. I sighed to myself as I flipped on the switch and flopped on the couch, exhausted after my two hour walk. Why did Alex have to be so complicated. I try my best to get him to just be... normal. Nothing ever works.

I slipped in my favorite piano album in the surround sound and tried to sooth myself with the calm ambience of the majestic notes. I bathed myself with the sheets of music as I laid on the couch with my arm over my eyes. I just wish I could get Alex to tell me he loved me or something that wouldn't make me leave. Where was he anyway?

My phone rang moments later and as I checked the number, I tossed it back on the ground. It was Alex. I told myself to be strong. If he wanted to talk to me, then he would need to come home and talk to me. For all I know, he's drunk off his ass by now. Wouldn't surprise me. He tends to go to Amy's bar and get loaded off of shots of tequila and then end up fucking her in the back. Sometimes I wonder if he even is gay and he just pretends to be for some kind of joke and he's waiting for the perfect moment to spoil everything. 

I gave up after an hour of arguing to myself and took a long hot shower, letting the warm water drizzle down my anorexic frame with the worries of the day pouring down the drain. I stood there, lingering in the heated mist as time flew by me like a runaway train and I couldn't help but feel a tear run down my face. Was this going to happen for the rest of my life? The man who supposedly loves me running away with flustered fists? I don't know and frankly I don't give a damn anymore.