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Madelena
By the time I hear the key in the lock, I’m not sure if I’m angry or just anxious.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the window, watching the snow fall. It’s beautiful. I’ve always liked the snowstorms here, how they obliterate everything in their ferocity. Their sheer power.
The bottle of wine is empty at my side, and the thought of sex as a weapon is at the forefront of my mind. Can I do it? With him? He’s so much more experienced than me in absolutely every way.
The brothers had returned over an hour ago, but I guess Santos went back to the reception. I get it, though. I’m sure it’s more fun than being with me. I wish I could walk away from myself some days.
Santos pushes the door open as I finish the last of the wine in my glass. He stops when he sees me. He’s in the middle of undoing his tie. I guess he’s surprised I’m not passed out after that fucking. He scans the room, which is a mess because the longer he was away and the more I drank, the more brazenly I went through everything.
But if he’s going to lock me in his bedroom, he should expect no less. I’m not apologizing. We’re enemies, whether or not we fuck. Because fucking is just fucking.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asks me, stripping the tie over his head and tossing it onto the back of a chair. He drapes his jacket over that.
I expect him to be angry, to question me about the room and the mess I’ve made. But he just walks over, undoing his shirt buttons and reminding me of the map of horrors beneath.
“Not tired,” I tell him when his gaze is back on mine. I tip the wine glass back again but barely get another drop.
He shakes his head, stopping when he reaches me. He bends to take the bottle and holds it up to the light.
“Where did you get this?”
I point to the dinner tray. “You sent it,” I hiccup. My tongue feels numb.
“No, I didn’t. Did you drink all of it?”
I decide to stand up. It takes me a few tries, and I am so wobbly that he has to grab my arm to steady me when I stumble backward.
“Who else?” I ask, tugging free and gesturing with my arm but realizing my comeback was too slow. I haven’t had a single drink in two years. Not one. Sister Catherine had made sure no one slipped me so much as a schnapps. So, this wine has definitely hit me hard.
“Christ, Madelena,” he says, taking the empty glass from my hand and setting it and the bottle down on the tray. He then lifts the lid off the dish to see if I’ve eaten, and I get another shaking of his head. It seems I can only disappoint him. “You should have eaten.”
I wonder for a minute if he’s going to make me eat now, but the meat and lobster look kind of gross after so many hours.
“I drank,” I say. “I figured the bottle was a wedding gift. Hey. Aren’t you supposed to give me a wedding gift?” Either I’m swaying or the room is as I make my way to sit on the edge of the bed. It takes me two tries to plant my butt on it. “Pretty sure the muff wasn’t from you.”
I track his progress into the bathroom where I hear the medicine cabinet open and close before he returns to the bedroom. He tips two pills into his hand, then pours me a glass of water from the bottle on the tray. He hands it to me. “What muff?” he asks.
“I’m not thirsty,” I say, getting back up to go to the window.
“Sit,” he commands, hand on my shoulder helping me to do just that even though I resist.
“You should consider getting a dog.”
“A dog? Why?”
“You like to give orders. You can teach a dog to obey them. Can’t teach a wife that. Not this wife, at least.” I hear how I sound, how my words are slurred. I’m apparently waving a finger at him, which is meant to be accusing, but my arm is too floppy. I give in and sit back down because the room is definitely spinning now.
He takes my hand, brings that finger to his lips, and kisses it, which catches me completely off guard and has me staring up at him, mute.
“I don’t want a dog. I like little kitties better,” he says, looking at me through his lashes, which I notice not for the first time are very thick, so thick I’m almost jealous. “One drunk Little Kitty, in particular. Here.” He holds out the aspirin.
I look at the palm of his hand, then up at him. “I’m not drunk.”
“No, of course you’re not. Take these or you’re going to have a monster of a headache tomorrow. Although maybe you deserve it.”
I sigh, take the pills from him, and pop them into my mouth, then drink a sip of water. He seems satisfied and sets the cup aside.
