Why did he have to tell me like that? Even if my family is bad… couldn’t he have told me in a better way?
Hours tick by, and I don’t hear Marlen coming up the stairs to go to bed. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s past three in the morning. That’s strange. He usually goes to bed by eleven because he gets up early for the gym and then goes to work.
A thread of worry pulls inside me. Is he ok? He was so upset, maybe… Maybe I should just go check on him.
Slipping out of bed, I tiptoe through the dark mansion to his bedroom. His bed is still neatly made. I give up on the tiptoeing and head downstairs to the living room, thinking maybe he fell asleep on the sofa. The living room is empty. The dining room still has our dinner dishes spread over it. Marlen is nowhere to be found.
Knowing I won’t be able to sleep if I go back to bed now, I flick on some lights and start cleaning up the dinner leftovers and stacking the plates to wash. I work slowly, using monotonous tasks to try to clear my thoughts again.
Where is Marlen?
I don’t care. Good riddance that he’s gone.
You don’t mean that.
Yes, I do. I want to go home. I want this whole thing to be over.
I clean all the dishes, dry them, and pack them away. The leftovers are packed in glass containers in the fridge, and the kitchen is clean again. Just as I’m about to flick the light off and go back to bed, I spot a piece of paper with my name on it near the bowl he keeps his keys and wallet in. My heart flips. Nervous.He left you a note.
Hurrying over to it, I unfold the paper and stare down at his neat cursive letters. Long strokes in pitch black ink.
Stefania,
I’ve gone to assist my brother with an errand.
Marlen.
As simple as that.
Well, it wasn’t what I was expecting. But at least he had the decency to let me know he was leaving. Not that there isenough information to say where, when, how long, blah blah blah.What do I care?
With a huff, I scrunch the paper up and toss it in the bin, then head upstairs to try and sleep.
***
It’s late morning when I wake up. Sleeping till ten still didn’t even give me all the sleep I needed. I’ve had maybe four hours, and I’m exhausted. Pushing my bedroom door open, I pause in the passage outside my room, looking toward his. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I walk toward his door, which is still open.
Peeking inside, I see the bed still made. My heart constricts with worry. He never came home last night. Did something happen? What kind of errand was it?
Generally speaking, errands run in the middle of the night are not good errands.
Is he ok?
Biting at my lip, I back away from his room and head down to the kitchen to make coffee. There isn’t anything I can do about it if he is in trouble. He’s not my real husband. He’s not even really my friend. I don’t know what to call him. How to classify his role in my life. The truth of it is that he’s my captor.
I couldn’t help him even if I wanted to. I can’t even help myself if I get into trouble. I guess I would call a guard if I needed something. But they aren’t going to freely give out information about where Marlen is. That’s for sure. He’s a grown man with plenty of people to call if he needs to.
I make coffee with slow, tired movements. My eyes feel heavy, swollen, and dry.
I add an extra spoonful of sugar to my coffee, hoping it will give me some much-needed energy.
Carrying the steaming mug of dark, rich, aromatic coffee outside into the morning sunlight, I sit on the patio and stare at the garden.
This place is beautiful. It’s peaceful and I like sitting here. I could happily live in a place like this. The only room in this entire house that isn’t welcoming is the creepy, minimalist office. It’s more brutalist than minimalist. Empty. Devoid of any sort of character whatsoever. The rest of his home isn’t like that at all. Thank goodness.
The day moves on, and I wander around, too tired to do much, but restless because I’m worried about why he isn’t home yet. But it’s got nothing to do with me. I mean, he could be out on a date or something. But the tension I feel is similar to how I felt when my brothers went out on a late-night mission of some sort and came home exhausted—or worse… hurt.
At some point in the afternoon, I fall asleep on the sofa with a series playing in the background. I wake up with the pillow imprinted on my cheek because I slept so soundly. I feel groggy and drugged for a good fifteen minutes after the nap, but once that’s cleared away, I feel ten times better. Rested.
