He hates mess. He hatesme.
Breathe.
He just said it.
Inhale. Exhale.
And the anger pulsing through his words got to me even as I was trying to seem above it. It’s hard enough to have him here tonight in bed with me, making me wonder why the hell he decided to change things up and come back early after two months of almost dead-bit absence. But I also have to take his remarks and try to let them roll over me even when this is triggering to me.
When people point out my messy behavior or my way of eating, it makes everything dizzy in my head. As if the air wasn’t going fully into my brain anymore. It always goes the same way: first, my fingers tingle, my chest heaves, and then white noise plugs my ears until I struggle to actually hear. Then, the last step is usually the one I despise the most. I fall on my knees and try to breathe, thinking I’m dying because of whatever triggered me, and I have to hold my throat in my hands, crying my heart out until it passes.
It always passes.
But that doesn’t mean it’s not hard.
Kiara saw me a few times like that on the floor of our bathroom. I almost always manage to get away from wherever I am to hide and have my freaking panic attack in peace. I’m not ready for Ares to see me like that any time soon, and I hope I'll keep this secret forever. No one likes to be seen as weak, especially when you have to stand up for yourself when you happen to be married to the embodiment of danger.
“You okay?” His rough voice echoes. “Where did you go?” His tone is almost worried as I drift off without noticing.
Damn it, I’ll be more discreet next time I wander in my head.
I shake my head as if it could bring me back quickly to reality.
“It’s nothing.” My voice falters a bit before looking back at my book.
Everything you touch turns to crap.
Look what you’ve done.
Shut your mouth, or I’ll have to clean up your messes after you.
The words of my mother come back, hitting me relentlessly like a wave to a shore.You got this. You’re doing this for Kiara.Keeping my gaze on my book, I sigh, wanting to seem unimpressed by him, but at the time, fighting the urge in me to beg him to stay here and not let me alone.
Pathetic, I know.
“You know what I think is funny?” I glance at him as I change the subject.
“What?” He lifts his brow.
“You keep acting like I’m pissing you off, but I think we both know you’re not the kind of guy who would be forced into anything. So cut the crap a second,honey,will ya?” I force my voice to sound as sultry as possible, catching him off guard with my boldness wrapped up in temptation. That’s what I do when I feel like someone could see what’s behind my mask. I bite them, pushing them away as my defense mechanism.
Kiara is safe as long as I'm staying here, and yet, there’s an impossible desire in me to run away into the woods of this property and disappear under the ground for no one to find me.
Running from responsibilities, from discomfort, from the promise of a life without love. And maybe I will, maybe oneday I won’t be able to fight this urge and I will run away. That day, I hope I’ll be smart enough to find my sister on time and convince her to run away from this life with me too.
His body shifts until his head is resting under his palm on the side, facing me, his musk scent pleasing me more than it should. I hate that he's not wearing a T-shirt, his huge muscles on display like a martial arts fighter, and those goddamn jet-black sweatpants that should be illegal.
“You’re something else, ya know,honey?” A wicked grin spreads on his face.
Please, don’t tell me my handsome—Tom Hardy clone—viking of a husband has a thing for sass because if he does, I’m gonna be in trouble with a capital T.
I try to swallow my smile but he makes me want to laugh for some reason.
“You look good tonight,wife.”His tone is rough, like gravel. The air feels suddenly heavier. I clear my throat, but it does nothing to him except confirm that his words did have an impact on me. My fake husband is hotter than any man I’ve ever seen.
Do I like him? No.
Do I find him attractive ? Well, that’s a whole different story.
