"Anything. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me. Tell me I'm a bastard for what I did." My fingers tighten on hers. "Just give me something."
She looks at our joined hands. Then at me.
"You did what you thought was necessary. For the family. I understand."
The words are right, but the delivery is dead. She is parroting what I said, not saying what she actually thinks.
"You understand? Really?"
"Yes. The family comes first. You had to protect them. I was a threat. You neutralized the threat." Her voice is robotic. "It makes sense."
"Then why do you sound like—" I stop myself, closing my eyes. I'm not even sure what to say anymore.
"Like what?"
Like you're dead.
"Never mind." I release her hand. "Finish your dinner," I order. I expect her to fight against me, like she normally would. Instead, she takes another mechanical bite.
I watch her. Really watch her.
This isn't the woman I married. Isn't the woman who fought me at every turn. Who looked at me with fire in her eyes even when I pushed her away.
This is a shell.
A ghost wearing Gemma's face.
And I put her there.
That night, I try to touch her.
Not because I want sex, but because I need to prove to myself that she's still in there somewhere. That I didn't completely destroy her, which is what I'm worried about.
"Gemma." I slide into bed beside her. She's already in her nightgown, facing away from me. "Look at me."
She turns to face me with empty eyes. I fucking hate the look.
"I want you," It's only a partial lie. I don't want this fucking version of her. This hollowed out shell. I want my wife. Badly. It's a long time since we've fucked, and I crave her. I don't knowwhen this happened, but I don't care to push her away any longer. "Let me?—"
"Okay."
She turns, laying back slightly, parting her legs slightly.
It reminds me of what she was like in the beginning of our marriage.
Only, this is worse. Before, there was resistance, anger, and defiance. Now, there's nothing.
"Gemma—" I stop, pulling back slightly. "I want you to want this too."
"I'm your wife. You can do whatever you want." She looks at me, her silver eyes cold.
The words are acid in my chest.
"I'm not going to just fuck you," I tell her. I'm getting frustrated. Why is she playing the victim here? Why is she acting like she didn't cause this?
"You've always used me. This is what I'm for, right? To give you an heir. To be useful. To serve the family. It's always about the family."
Her words are cold, but they lack malice. She's not trying to fight me. She truly think I see her this way.
