“I don’t want to leave you,” she breathes into my mouth, caressing my hair back to expose my eyes to the light. “You’re beautiful. Do you know that, Theodore Ellis?”
“Only in your eyes, Scarlett Dane.”
Her kiss is petal soft, light as a feather, but settles a thousand-pound mass in my gut.
“Then let that be enough.”
It is, far beyond it.
It’s agony to watch her leave, but as she slinks through the night, I’m transported to younger days. Back to when it was me scurrying through the shadows to avoid the switch of my father's belt.
Scarlett brings back the freedom I had felt so long ago. With Beth, I have to maintain an image so as not to embarrass her family name. But with Scar, fuck, I feel alive.
That lightness follows me all the way home. Even the knowledge of Beth waiting inside can’t snuff it out.
Parking in the space behind her CT4, I dig through my center console and pull out my almost empty bottle of mouthwash. After spitting it out on the dewy grass, I pop a stick of spearmint gum between my teeth and check my face and neck for signs of her lips.
Clear of any evidence, I give myself a couple of spritzes of cologne and hop out of the car. The wind carries most of the scent away. Cheap ass shit used to piss me off, but for this situation, it serves its purpose.
The house smells of spilled Cabernet and the spicy cocoa aroma of Nat Shermans. The wine isn’t anything new, but Beth only brings out those cigarettes for special occasions. It isn’t her birthday, nor is it our anniversary. Maybe she got another promotion at work, perks of being the owner’s granddaughter.
“Look who’s home,” she deadpans, emerging from around the corner with a mop and broom in hand. “Careful, I broke a bottle.”
Blood red stains the middle of the kitchen, slowly expanding over the violent shards of glass. It reminds me of those crime scenes portrayed on the ID Channel.Only there’s no body.
Taking the mop from her hands, I begin collecting the fragments in a pile. “So, how was your day?” It sounds unsure coming out of my mouth. Usually, we don’t talk about our days unless one of us is angry. I’m not, and she doesn’t appear to be, but if I didn’t ask, I don’t know what I’d say.
“Oh, you know… same ol’, same ol’.”
Her smile is wrong. There’s no other way to explain it. The force behind her curled lips and tender iciness in her stare make the sirens go off in my head.
Beth isn’t the kind of woman to say what's on her mind. She likes to play games, make me guess, because she knows I’ll get it wrong. That way, she’s allowed to be upset and hurt me in any way she can.
“You were gone so long,” she draws out, staring down at me while I clean her mess, dropping the burning embers of her cigarette on my tousled hair.
Patting out the fiery bits, I nod my head, making sure to keep my face straight while I stare her in the eyes. It’s a challenge, one that she started long ago when Joshua came into the picture. She always found it so easy to lie to my face. I never understood why. But I do now.
“Wanna tell me why?”
“I was at the match.”
“For hours?”
Gulping, I retort, “It was really intense.”
“Right. I’m sure it was,” she drones, still watching me with that same manic look in her eyes. Then, after flicking the end of her cigarette right in my face, Beth drops it in the sink, turns on the water, and steps into my chest. “I have a conference in Washington tomorrow. Dad’s picking me up at five.”
“When will you be back?”
“Monday night.”
Holding in my sigh of relief, I slap on a dejected expression and wish her a wonderful trip.
“Oh, it will be.” She laughs, stepping over me while I kneel in a pile of glass. “Don’t forget to vacuum the floor after you mop up this mess and wash the dishes. You didn’t this morning, and they fucking stink.”
Giggles echo throughout our home, before the sound of her feet stops at the entrance of our room. “I left you a pillow and blanket on the couch. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice about staying out so late.”
The click of our bedroom lock snaps into place.
