Nothing.
So why can’t he see it? Why can’t he fight with me instead of against me?
Atlas calms, now taking deep, slow inhales and exhales, as his heart rate slows to a normal beat. I keep stroking his cheek with my thumb, revelling in my husband's much-missed touch.
I'm still concerned, though, because the dream sounded... horrible. And apparently, it involved me.
"You were having a nightmare, honey," I murmur, keeping my voice soft to not disturb the peace. "It's okay..."
Unfortunately, this breaks him out of his spell.
His eyes snap open, frantic and wide, and he realizes the position we're in. As if my touch burns, he pulls his hand from my back and yanks his face out of my hands.
That stings badly, but I had him—I was touching my husband again, maybe if I push a little, I can drag him back.
Maybe he needs me to reach out and save him.
All thoughts of separation and divorce fly clear out of my head. My single focus at the moment is pulling my husband back into my arms, telling him that he can talk to me, about his nightmare, about whatever has made him pull away.
We can fix this. I love him too much to let our marriage die without agoddamn fight.
We can try again, we can get back to Wendy and Atlas.
Before I can even open my mouth, he rolls over in bed to face away from me, moving as far as he can. I move toward him, hoping and wishing that I can drag him back, that my love and my touch are good enough to get him back.
"Atlas, are—" I start, but his growling, angry voice cuts me off, not even rolling over to look at me.
"I'm fine."
"Atlas, you sounded—"
"Wendy," he snaps, louder now. "Leave it."
I can't.I feel it all slipping through my fingers.
"Please, just talk to me—"
"For fuck's sake, I said I'm fine!"
I flinch at the volume and the snarling tone of his voice.
He'sneverraised his voice at me before. With that, I feel something inside of me finally shatter.
All of the fight, all of the surviving motivation to fix things, it all falls away, disappearing into dust. It's only the two of us here, but I feel so embarrassed, so full of shame.
A hitching sob claws its way up my throat, but I cover my mouth to muffle the sound because having him hear how badly he's hurt me is somehow worse than actually feeling it.
His breathing goes deep and even again in sleep, but I just lie here in my bed, next to my husband, and I cry. I apparently can't even comfort my husband without irritating him.
My whole body shakes, my hands clench and unclench at my sides with energy that has nowhere to go. I allow myself this cry to release it all.
One last cry.
Chapter Eight
Wendy
The digital clock reads 4:47 when I finally pull myself out of bed. My tears have dried, my hurt now replaced by irritation.
