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“Of course, I did!She could do the interview or not, there were two!” She pretends to be offended and I narrow my eyes. “What?! I could have just said the interview was over!That would be giving her only one option! I was very nice” she says, making me smile.And I almost regret allowing myself to do so when Antonella realizes that there is no longer a need for us to be so close and, as has become routine in recent days, runs away.
She walks away from me without any ceremony and says goodbye with nothing but a wink, even if there is no real reason or need for it.Isabella is still out with Carmen.
As she walks through the rooms and gets further and further away, I do nothing but what has also become routine since we got back from our honeymoon, I watch her ass getting away from me, wondering when it will stop looking wrong.
When I found her standing in front of the mirror, my only desire was to kiss her right there.Exactly seven days since the last time I tasted her, I sank my nose into her skin, and I had the impression that if I didn’t, an immense catastrophe would happen, an asteroid would hit planet Earth, perhaps.
And, driven by an unstoppable force, I allowed myself to approach, even though I knew she would push me away, because while I agonize in desire, Antonella remains unmoved about any possibility about us. That’s fucked up.
As expected, she resisted.But, surprising me, she gave me more than I would have asked for, and less, much less than I needed, before running away.It didn’t go unnoticed that she didn’t say no to me. She just ran.
The feeling was hopeless, and if it wasn’t for the interviewing team arriving at that exact moment, I would probably have, again, hidden in my own room, being the one who needed to flee from Antonella’s presence to recover some of my sanity.
With a sore erection, I forced, in my thoughts, unpleasant images, needing to deal with it before the magazine was here.Gradually, the physical proof of my need for Antonella was eliminated, but in my mind, the abstract proof followed stronger with each answer she gave to the interviewer.
Amazing. Fucking amazing. This woman… I wanted to laugh at myself.How could I ever believe that Antonella was anything but imperious? She shows nothing security and determination.
Still standing in the entrance hall, now completely alone, I deny with my head, exhale hard and run my hand through my hair.
In a usual reflex, I look at the elevator, wondering if I shouldn’t seek relief elsewhere.But the memory of the last time I tried to do this takes my mind by storm, making it clear that this is a bad idea, a really bad one.
If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s another humiliation session.And what do you need, Marcos?I laugh, without any humor, when the answer is drawn in my mind with an absurd clarity, right after the question:my wife.
?
How do I feel? Ridiculous.
Am I willing to act differently? Not at all.
With my ear on my bedroom’s door, I’ve been waiting for the usual movement in the early hours of my house since Antonella moved in.Yes, I’m stalking my wife, and only God can judge me for that.
Ellararely sleeps a full night without waking up to drink water. Could I put a minibar in her room to make her life more comfortable?Yeah, I could! But if I did, it would make our meetings, sometimes accidental, sometimes, not so much, impossible. And I’m not willing to give them up, not as long as they’re pretty much all I have when it comes to her spontaneous company, or nearly so.
So for now, I’m happy that Antonella herself hasn’t had the bright idea of having water in her room yet and continues, every night, leaving in the middle of the night to go to the kitchen.
I hear a door opening and walk a few steps away from mine, as if the noise meant some threat.Ridiculous!I’ve become a fucking ridiculous man!But I really don’t care, not now.
I wait a full minute before turning my doorknob and crossing the portal, but to my surprise, instead of finding the free corridor to reach Antonella in the kitchen, I find a small human being, with desperation stamped on its face, wrapped in an immense blanket, firmly hugging a doll.
I don’t realize I ran until I reached Isabella in what must have been less than a second.
“What happened?” I ask, putting my hand on her cheeks with a sour taste in my mouth that is not justifiable, but is there.It’s terrible, desperate, and it gets even worse when Isabella throws herself into my chest, grabs my neck, and starts crying copiously.
My heart speeds up, punches the rib cage, and I blink my eyes, having no idea what to do.Holy shit, what do I do?
“Bella, darling...Bella, are you in pain? Does it hurt somewhere?” I try to look into her face, but she refuses to take it off my neck.I press her against myself not knowing whether or not it offers any comfort.I don’t know how children work, is it the same as adults? I have no idea!
I don’t know how many minutes pass before the crying is replaced by hiccups and Isabella seems to calm down a bit.
“It’s okay, Bella... It’s okay...” I say quietly afraid to do or say anything that might lead her back to her newly overcome crying state.” Why don’t we go back to your room?” I offer, but the answer is immediate. A resoundingnoand an even greater grip on my neck, plus a shudder that runs through the whole small body.
What the fuck! What happened in that room?With my knees planted on the floor of the hallway, I frown and feel my entire body stiffen.I look back and forth, suddenly worried that whatever is in Isabella’s room will leave, since she left the door open.An animal, perhaps? But how?
I think about knocking on Antonella’s room, but if I wake her up in fright just to introduce her to a completely destabilized Isabella, I’m likely to make the woman have a heart attack. Shit! Fuck! My wife’s voice sounds loud in my head like a siren,No matter how sad she seems, you don’t make promises, you ask me. Always! You always ask me!
Fuck! She doesn’t look sad, she’s crying, clearly scared and desperate. I make a decision.I pick Isabella in my arms and slowly I walk with her to my room.I leave the door open, wide open, actually, so that if Antonella leaves her own room, she can see us.I sit in one of the armchairs, but that doesn’t shake Isabella’s grip around me.
Her breathing seems less uncontrolled now that we have moved away from the source of her problem, however, her arms and legs continue to hold me as tightly as they were before, and I stand still, looking forward to the moment when she will feel better, when she will feel safe.
