I step back too, my pride, or something close to it, wounded at his apparent rejection. Rejection of what, I’m not sure. I don’t understand what passed between us. I don’t know why my heart is hammering against the cage of my ribs so wildly. I’m confused by the dampness gathering between my legs and the way I feel sore and achy all over, straight down to my bones.
I wait until Wraith carries a box from the entrance to god knows where, before I scurry back through the kitchen. A sharp hallway banks hard to the left and I head that way, even though I can hear stirring in the back. The house is tiny, and it doesn’t take me long to push open the door that is the bathroom.
I slam it closed and lean hard up against it, breathing even harder. My mind whirls frantically. I was so afraid this morning, reluctant and bitter at the fact that I was being traded away to further my father’s ambition. I hated him, hated him with the flames of burning passion licking away at the brightly burning embers already lit in my soul.
And now…
I was so sure I’d hate the man who would be my husband. I didn’t see him as an actual person with thoughts and feelings, with a heart beating inside his own chest. I didn’t understand that he might be as reluctant as me, that for him, this wasn’t about ambition. That he was equally as pressed into this union as I was.
I didn’t imagine him as someone who would defend me and protect me. Who would take issue with the insults that had been heaped on me my entire life. Who would rather bruise his own body than let those words bruise my soul.
I could never have known that the abstract husband from just that morning had eyes the color of chocolate velvet fringed by the darkest, thickest lashes. I couldn’t know that he’d have strong, masculine lips that I’d want pressed against my own. I didn’t imagine his skin would be dark, bronzed honey or that I’d want to taste it the same way my mouth waters over a delicious looking dessert.
I give my head a hard shake at the same time my hands claw over my dress, trying to frantically rip it off of my overheated skin. All I can think about is getting in the shower. I don’t even take time to notice how the bathroom has obviously been re-done or the detail that’s gone into it. My whole attention is focused on ripping that fucking dress off me, cranking on the cold spray, and stepping underneath.
I let out a gasp at the violent change in temperature, at the cold water sluicing over my fiery skin. After a few minutes of shivering, my teeth chattering so hard that I’m afraid they’re going to chip on each other, I realize that the cold has done absolutely nothing to quell the burn that radiates just below the surface like hot magma at the center of the earth.
I bend and reluctantly switch on the hot, just enough to make the spray tolerable. Under the lukewarm water, my skin thaws and my goosebumps disappear. I glance around at the tile surrounding the bathtub, at the intricate patterns the little blue squares have been placed into, at the even white grout that holds it all in place. I stare at the tub, a newer, deeper device with jets, at the glass enclosure at the edge, at the rain head shower with the gentle spray pouring so gently over me.
My eyes track the rest of the small bathroom. I take everything in, from the new, water conserving toilet with the complicated flush buttons on top, to the square sink with a faucet above that looks like the water will pour out from the top, not the bottom. I let my gaze linger over the tiled floor, big square white tiles with the same little blue tiles from the backsplash at the sink and surrounding the tub, interspersed.
Like a puzzle, the pieces of the house come together in my mind. The newer porch. The red door. The beautiful wooden floors and freshly painted walls. I haven’t really seen the kitchen yet, but I caught a glimpse of dark cabinets and white countertops as I skirted by.
The house has been completely redone, because even I can tell it’s not a new construction. Did Wraith do the work or did he pay someone? No. I don’t even know him, but I can’t imagine him letting someone else do the work for him. I imagine it was him who spent all the time doing every little painstaking detail in every single room, his big capable hands mapping out patterns, cutting and pasting until the entire thing came together like a much harder, much more wondrous adult version of arts and crafts time.
I wash my hair with Wraith’s spicy, woodsy scented shampoo and conditioner, then wrap a thick black towel aroundmyself. It’s so big that it nearly goes around me twice. I step out of the shower and stare at my ruined dress. There isn’t any way I’m going to put that thing back on.
Instead, I open up the door and let out a rush of air at the neatly folded dark pile in front of it. I gather up the clothes and retreat inside. I unfold them carefully, my stomach coiled tight, my heart beating as fast as it has all day, so hard that it’s painful.
I feel like everything is jammed up in my throat. My stomach, my heart, my breath.
I pull on the plain black t-shirt, the cotton so soft that it nearly makes my skin feel rough. It’s huge and I swim in it. I nearly laugh when I realize that it goes past my knees. There’s a set of boxers there too, since Wraith didn’t rummage through my things and find any of my underwear. I stare at them for a long time before I finally allow my shaking hands to unfold them and slide them on. I have to roll the waistband a few times to get them to stay on my hips.
I stare at myself in the foggy mirror after, the steam from the shower still clinging wetly to the shiny oval surface since I forgot to turn on the fan. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes huge and round, my lips swollen and parted. I don’t look like myself at all, standing there in that black t-shirt, wearing a man’s boxers. Boxers that, even if they’re clean, were worn by him.
My new husband.
It’s such a heady, wild thought, that I have to tear myself away from the sink and fumble with the door handle before I can spring it open.
I never thought that this marriage would amount to anything. Nothing more than two people forced into a terrible union, praying for the day they’d finally be able to get a divorce and go their separate ways without causing a fucking war between opposing forces that they have no control over.
I imagined us stuck in the middle and staying that way. Powerless. Unhappy. Unmoored.
Instead, I find myself creeping down the hall, to the last door on the right. It opens up to a larger room with the same hardwood floors and light painted walls. The furniture is newer, dark mahogany wood in a modern style. A dresser with a large mirror, a taller dresser, two nightstands, and a queen-size bed with a sleek headboard and footboard.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t imagine it would look like this.
Just as I didn’t imagine that the man hovering around, inspecting the stack of boxes that he’s just placed intohisroom, would be anything like he is.
That when his eyes sweep to mine, they’d burn with something I don’t understand, something echoed deep in the bottom of my stomach, in my thighs, in my pulsing core.
I didn’t expect his doe eyed dog, or the tender way Wraith’s burning gaze sweeps from me to the animal nestled on the bed.
“I’ll make up the couch,” he says quickly, too quickly. He doesn’t look at me, and I’m thankful for the reprieve.
“N-no,” I stammer. I swallow hard, embarrassed at the shakiness of my voice. “It’s your house. We can share. The bed… that is…. Neither of us needs to take the couch.” I knowthat’s totally inadequate and I need to let him know what he’s done for me, because he won’t understand otherwise, so I suck in a gulp of air. “Thank you for everything. No one has ever stood up for me before. For making this feel like my home now, too.”
Those blazing dark eyes flick up to land on my face and I find myself writhing under his scrutiny. I clench my hands tightly at my sides, fisting them in the extra length of the t-shirt.
