Three Thousand and Five Hundred Hours

‘25 Tips on How to Be Heard in a Relationship.’

‘18 Ways to Make Your Needs Known in Partnerships.’

‘22 Quick Tips for a Struggling Couple Dynamic.’

I squeeze the back of my neck in guilt while scrolling the Google search page for a website that could potentially help me make my voice heard. Sean tells me to ask for help when I need it, to not let myself drown in chores or work, but every time I ask for help, I’m just blown off. 

“I’ll do it in a while,” turns to never.

”Let me finish this round,” morphs to a video game marathon that doesn’t end until after I’ve called it a night.

”I’m too tired,” started to sound like an excuse for ‘I don't want to do that.’

When we first started dating, Sean was wonderful. I’d go over and visit on the weekends and we would relax on the couch and watch horror movie marathons with a glass of wine and share a bowl of deluxe mac and cheese. On special occasions, I’d cook for him and he would be excited to pick up a knife and start prepping vegetables or washing dishes, and when I politely told him he didn’t need to do that, but it was appreciated, he’d always say ‘I do it because I love and appreciate you.’

“What are you looking at, Talia?”

I yelp and slam my laptop shut. Whipping my head around, I see Sean standing behind me, still in his pajama sweats with a chunk of cold pizza hanging out of his mouth. 

“Just scrolling through my homepage. Daily news, A-Lister drama, the usual.”

Sean shrugs as he pulls the rest of the pizza up into his mouth. His medium blonde hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in a week, which checks out. His remote IT job doesn’t require frequent Zoom calls. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him pop an airpod into his left ear before sliding his headset over the rat nest on his head. He wipes his pizza hands on the bottom of the sofa.

“I put paper towels on the coffee table to be used, not as decoration.”

“Yeah, yeah, I see them.” He pulls one off of the roll, crumples it up in one hand, and tosses it back onto the coffee table. The Xbox controller used to be white.

I open my laptop again after Sean immerses into his Call Of Duty: Zombies match. Murphy, my yorkie, jingles over and sits between my feet, waiting for my hand to reach down to scratch behind his ear. ‘How to Tell My Partner I Need Help’ by Reddit user u/hantares. Clicking the blue link, I’m greeted by a thread that was posted four years ago that describes my household almost verbatim.

“I, 26M, moved in with my girlfriend, 24F. The first six-ish months were great. She worked as a PRN nurse for a high trauma hospital, and I worked full time for a construction company. We split everything—rent, utilities, grocery bills, you name it, and it was her idea. She wanted to meet halfway for everything. About three months ago, she started saying she needed more help with work around the house because she was picking up more hours at the hospital. I understood, and started to pick up more chores. Slowly, she started to back off on her hours, asking me for more money for rent, bills, and a spending allowance. Now, she works less than one day a pay period, but still wants me to keep up on cleaning, cooking dinner, taking care of her dog and paying all of the bills. It’s kinda overwhelming, but when I ask for help, I’m blown off. What should I do?”

Break up with her, she’s just using you. I caught myself. Sean hasn’t worked anywhere other than at home for about a year now, going multiple hours, sometimes multiple days without receiving a call. But he does help out. He puts the dishes from the dishwasher up when he can, even if they're not entirely clean. He’ll start laundry for me every once in a while, even if he does forget to put it into the dryer. At least he tries, even if I have to hand wash those dishes before using them, or rewash the laundry because they smell musty. Patting Murphy’s back, I look at the time on my phone, jumping up when I realize I’m starting to run late for work. 

When he can. Every once in a while. 

“Hey, Sean.”

No answer. I walk over to him and nudge his shoulder. He slides his left ear out of his headset, but his eyes and fingers are still very much trained on his game.

“What?

“Can you run to the store and pick up something easy I—you can put together for dinner? I think you ate up the rest of the pizza.” I dropped sixty dollars in cash on the table next to his phone.

“Yeah, sure Tal, when I have a second.”

“Thanks, I—”

Sean slides his headset back over his ear, blocking me out.

Okay then.

I rush to put on my scrubs, pin my hair up, slide on deodorant and spray perfume. I slip into my Hokas and pull my jacket over my shoulders, snatch up my work bag, and grab my keys. I pause at the door. 

“I love you, Sean.”

The only answer I get is Sean yelling at the TV.

Not a good day. We had a deceased kid come in after falling from a window while the parents tried to take a nap, an older lady with late stage dementia fall and broke multiple thoracic vertebrae, and multiple surgeries going on at the same time, one ending early due to a man going into cardiac arrest on the table. My shoulders and legs hurt from the amount of pushing, pulling, lifting, and compressing I’ve had to do today. My mind is tired from the grief, excitement, alarms and death. But at least I don’t have to worry about dinner tonight.

I badge my door, trying to open it before grabbing my keys from my pocket. Unlocking the door, I step into the dark living room, tiptoeing around an excited Murphy, and kick off my shoes and work bag, then go to the laundry room to shed my remaining uniform. I limp to the bathroom to take a shower, hoping I can finish cleaning up before my muscle relaxer takes effect.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself up with my towel. My legs drip dry since my back hurts too much to bend down to run my towel over them. Stretching out my arms and shoulders, I step back into the living room and finally notice Sean's limp body on the sofa snoring, his headset half on his right ear, half on his nose. One leg is draped on the back of the couch, and the other falls right in front of the marinara stains smeared across the bottom of the couch.

“Sean, wake up.” I whisper while shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, bubs, hey.”

Sean groans as he rouses, pulling his headset off and leaning up to sit upright. “Ugh, what time is it?”

“Half past eleven. Have you eaten yet?”

“Nah, I was waiting for you to get home.”

“Well, I’m home now. You didn’t have to wait for me, let’s get up and eat. What did you make?”

“I was supposed to make something?”

My hand retreats from his shoulder and my eyes blink slowly, realizing what he was saying.

“Yeah, I asked you to run and grab something quick for dinner. I had to work late tonight, it’s on the calendar. What happened to the money I left you?”

“I tipped the Door Dash driver earlier with it. The ten you left?”

My mouth slacks open.

“Sean, where’s the fifty that was folded with the ten?”

“I didn’t notice a fifty, Talia.” He smiles, like I was pulling a prank.

“...You didn’t notice the fifty.” I laugh while pinching the bridge of my nose and retreating. “So you’re telling me I’m out of dinner and sixty bucks?”

“Well, on the bright side, there is like a quarter of a Firehouse sub in the fridge?” He stands up and a white, red and black wrapper ball falls to the floor with a soft thud. “...On the floor?” Hot tears start to drip onto my cheek from frustration. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Tal. I know just how to cheer you up. Go lay down in the room and I’ll give you a massage. You’re always talking about how your back hurts after work” he suggests, eyeing up and down my body in my towel. 

I clamp my arms around the hem of the towel on my chest. “No, it’s not gonna be ‘just a massage’. It’s never just this or just that. ‘Just’ leave me alone. Let me lay down and sleep. I’m tired.”

“Or…”

“NO, Sean. Listen to me, for once. I’m tired. Do I need to spell it out for you to finally listen? Do I need to plaster it onto a lightboard? No, I know, I’ll start a match of Call Of Duty, join your party, and spam it in the damn chat. Is that what it takes for you to listen to me, to notice me? I hate throwing this up in your face, but I’ve had a bad day. What have you done today?”

“Well… I got a sandwich.” Sean smiles meekly.

“And?”

“And… and I got a call from work. Yeah, from work. You know, I work too, Tal!”

“How many hours have you clocked since this game came out?” 

“I don’t know, like four, five hundred hours.”

“How many hours do you have logged for the game?” I sigh, already knowing the answer. He’s very proud of it.

“Three and a half thousand.” I mouth as the words leave his mouth.

“Three thousand, five hundred hours, Sean. Every day I leave for work, you play. I come home, you haven’t moved. I wish you paid attention to me as much as you pay attention to the TV. I can’t cook, clean, pay bills and work fifty hours a week by myself. I need help, and I’ve been begging, Sean.” I feel my expression fall.

“Well, what do you want me to do, Tal? Do you want me to answer your every beckon call like a dog? Do you want me to live for you and only you? Be a house maid, wallet, and personal chef? Well, your royal highness, your wish is my command.” Sean quips, spreading his arms out and throwing them up.

I take a second to string my thoughts together. The lease is in my name. All of the bills are in my name. Murphy is my dog, that Xbox is mine. Sean has been living here for two years and hasn’t paid a month of rent, bought a meals worth of groceries, or clean up after himself since we’ve moved in together. I've asked and begged for help. I think back to that reddit post, and my initial feeling. I let the thick silence permeate the room before I straighten up and open my mouth again. 

 “I miss the old you, the one who cared and treated me like a partner. If you can’t be that again, leave. I’d rather be alone than clean up after a grown man.”

He leaves the next morning. No more words, no more arguing. I order a new sofa on Wayfair and relax in bed with Murphy the rest of the day.