She turned slightly, and I could see her eye was swollen and red. I turned her fast as hell, leaving the fridge door open. My wife had clearly been crying, which meant someone needed to die. Shit wasn’t logical, but hey, I was beyond the power of reasoning when it came to her. The only “r” words that computed were ones like “rage” and “revenge.”
“Milaya, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied, her voice toneless.
“Who hurt you, Theory? Tell me, now,” I demanded.
She dredged up a fake little smile. “There you go being bossy.”
“Theory—”
“It’s fine, Targen.”
Another lie. I never wanted to hear those come out of her mouth. I pulled her into an embrace, hugging her tight, the way I knew she liked.
“No one gets to make you cry.”
“Except you, huh?” she shot back.
I stiffened. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to pick a fight or if something else was going on. I loosened my hold, leaned back.
“Not even me. Did I hurt you? This weekend? This morning? Tell me if I?—”
She grabbed my face, remorse in her eyes. “No, no, no. You didn’t, baby. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I searched her face to be sure, then hugged her again.
“Did Sherrell touch you wrong?”
“Sherrell was even more wonderful.”
Maybe I could coax it out of her over food, I reasoned. “Let me make you lunch and?—”
“I’m not hungry,” she murmured against my chest.
Yeah… something was wrong.
“Theory—”
“I’ma just go lie down. Don’t worry about me; fix yourself something, okay?” she said, pulling against my grasp on her.
I never wanted to hold her in a way that made her feel restrained, not after what she’d been through. So, reluctantly, I let her go, my gaze trained on her face. She wouldn’t even meet my eyes. That scared the fuck out of me.
“Theory,milaya?—”
“I really need this nap, Targen,” she evaded before escaping up the backstairs.
I watched her retreat, my heart in my stomach. I closed the refrigerator, then paced the kitchen, turning shit repeatedly in my head. The next five minutes were torture. One second past that limit, I muttered, “Fuck this,” and jogged up the stairs. I hadn’t been playing when I told her there would never be the kind of space and time between us that the last year had taken.
She faced the window, her back to me, when I opened the bedroom door. Her body shook gently, betraying the fact that she wasn’t asleep. Wordlessly, I grabbed a chair, circled the bed, and sat in front of my crying wife.
“Talk to me,” I said quietly. “I can’t just watch you cry,malyshka.Please.”
“Hard-headed,” she mumbled.
“So, I’ve heard. Theory?—”
“I got my period, Targen!” her words were annoyed and she flipped away from me.
