Sleep eludes me, nothing fucking new, so I roll out of bed, returning at the crack of dawn before she wakes up.
But it’s like she knows I didn’t spend the night with her.
She casts me a look so coated in dejection that it rips me apart.
27
VIVIANA
He doesn’t want to confess, but his need for me pushes him on. I am asking him to bare himself, and he’s trying. It’s imbued in the sounds he produces in the heavy silence once night falls, when we can’t hide from our demons.
My motivation doesn’t stem from a desire to punish him, but from a desire to understand him. For him to trust me. Patience is paramount, but I miss him.
I miss him so much. I am a mess most of the time. Not just the emotional connection, but the physical one.
I hate the war we have going on. One I started, but he caused it. One that leaves us both destitute with no peace in sight.
This stalemate is decimating my spirit.
Becoming a preschool teacher has been a dream for so long that I thought once I could achieve it, nothing else would matter. But he matters, taking up so much space in my head that I can barely fit any other thought.
Even when surrounded by cuteness overload because there is nothing sweeter than children, my thoughts redirect to him—in an endless loop. I drift and drift, forever lost in his orbit.
As I gather the crayons, Evie unpins today’s drawings from the board, smiling fondly.
Behind the facade, she hasn’t been herself either.
The weekend will do us both good.
Finishing cleaning up, we take our purses and, arms looped together, we walk to the nearby coffee shop.
Knowing there are always guards around me eases my mind. Living in the city comes with its own tribulations.
Over a cup of iced coffee, she sighs, looking deep in thought.
I find her hand on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shuts her eyes briefly, but not before I notice the utter dejection. “I knew the day was coming. I thought I’d be ready…”
“What are their issues with each other, anyway?”
Her chest heaves with a deep exhale. “He thinks I did that on purpose. Like I am some sort of spy for my brother.”
I shake my head. “I swear, men always think of betrayal first.”
She nods, and we sip from our coffees, recounting our favorite things of the day before we head out.
She inhales a deep breath and says, “I think it will do us good. Two days, no men, just the ocean and horses. Animals are so much better.”
I giggle. It’s hard to deny that.
The driver opens the door for me, bringing me back to the penthouse. It’s home. I am freer than I ever thought I could be, but just as trapped by him.
If I hadn’t known how good we were together, I would have accepted this pitiful marriage. Anger quickly returns. I am permanently mad at him. He ruined us. Not me. Him.
My phone rings, and I answer, my panting betraying my emotional state, so I try to mask it by pouring thick sarcasm. “Did you know I was just thinking about you?”
“You are always thinking about me,” he says assuredly.
