He stretches, his sculpted arms extending high toward the ceiling. He’s not even flexing, and I can see his muscle definition and the dark hair under his arms. I close my mouth before I start drooling. Before I lose my mind. Before my body yearns for his touch.
I breathe evenly. Quietly. Patiently. I’ve never allowed another man to touch me. Neverwantedanother man to touch me.Once upon a time, I only wanted him. His lips, his mouth, his—
“Cyn?”
I clear my throat and say, “Huh?”
“Did you have any other questions?”
“Oh, no. I’m good. I suppose I’ll go shower and get ready for bed. Fortunately for you, you don’t have to show me where anything is.”
“Right.”
“Did you take my bag upstairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you.”
I roll my eyes and leave the kitchen. Jogging upstairs and walking down the hallway, I step into what was once my bedroom – our bedroom – and I don’t know what it was about being in here, but tears immediately come to my eyes.
It smells like him. I miss that smell. Miss him. I used to find comfort in his arms. In our lives. I used to feel safe with him. Now, I don’t know what to feel. My mind and hormones are all over the place.
I step into the bathroom, take out my toiletries, and brush my teeth before stepping into the shower where I clean my body and wash my tears away. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the night sleeping in his bed without feeling a certain kind of way about it. I’ll be tucked beneath covers that smell like him. Reliving our closeness in this bed. The pillow talks. The lovemaking…
Gosh, I miss my husband, but he’s proven that I’m not important to him. What am I supposed to do about that? I can’t jump into his mind and make him see my value. He needs to do that all on his own.
chapter six.
brix
Two long hourscrept by while I stayed downstairs, willing myself not to go to my bedroom. I needed Cyn to be deep in REM sleep before I went up. I wanted to watch her rest, the way I used to when we were happy. I wanted to adore the rise and fall of her chest, the light breathing of a woman who’s the most beautiful being on the planet.
My wife.
When I finally decide to go up, I open the door and smell her skin and the fragrance she put on. She usually wears lotion that smells sweet like vanilla. Yeah, that’s what I smell – vanilla. I walk over to the bed to get a closer look at her tucked comfortably inside of what used to beourbed. The bed where we loved hard. Tested its limits. Cried out in passion for each other. Laughed together. Watched late-night news. Held each other.
I miss those things. I want them back. I wantherback, but she’s made it clear that that’s not happening.
So, for now, I’ll take what I can get – this image of her in this peaceful state where she’s not downplaying our separation with sarcasm. She’s the picture of perfection with her hair all splayed over my pillow, those perfectly-sized lips that I miss kissing, that dainty nose that flares when she sees me, and her light brown skin tone that ushers me to press my lips somewhere on her body.
I close my eyes and let her scent encompass me.
Cynnamon.
She’s my favorite melody. Poetry without words. A well-seasoned dish. A soft breeze. A dessert after dinner. She’s my life balled up into one fireball of a woman.
We’re not in a good place, yet she still did this favor for me. That must count for something. I know I fumbled with her, but that doesn’t have to mean that all is lost.
I’m hoping to use this time to possibly get back in her good graces. I know I did wrong by her, but there’s no other woman for me. I think she knows that, too. It’s just too difficult to get through the tough exterior she built around her heart, and I can’t blame her for it. I supplied the materials.
I get up in the morning, stretch and rub my eyes, adjusting to the light. My joints crack as I sit up on the sofa. It was a highly uncomfortable experience sleeping on the sofa, especially since I’m used to sleeping in the luxury that is my king-sized bed – the bed that’s empty right now. Where did Cynnamon go?
I glance at the clock on the wall above the TV. The time is five past eight. I stretch again and, after visiting the bathroom, I head downstairs in search of her, but she’s not down here anywhere either. Opening the front door, I step outside, stretch again and notice her car is gone.
Where did this woman go so early?
