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Valentina
As the days move on, Gabriel grows further and further away from me. He’s closed up in himself, and no amount of probing or baiting can lure him out. To suffer the loss he did is shattering, and the grief is devastating. He eats well and exercises every day. His body is the same rock-hard, strong one I remember, but the man inside has changed. Is he even in there, in the darkness that’s become his mind? No matter how much I talk or touch, I can’t get through to him.
From the dark circles marring his eyes, I know he’s not sleeping, even if he no longer sleeps next to me. After the funeral, he moved into the spare bedroom. He doesn’t go to work or see friends. He stays at home all day, but well away from me. When he’s not closed in his study or working out in the gym, he’s doing DIY work around the house. I watch him with his shirtless body up on the ladder, and my body doesn’t care that he’s still in grief or that he blames me. It only wants what it’s being denied––my husband’s touch.
Abstractly, he’s never been my husband, of course. Our house of cards, my make-belief reality, has come crushing down, and the man who taught me to be hungry for his caresses is now withholding them from me. This makes me sad. Since he hasn’t been inside me for weeks, I feel obsolete, like a purposeless burden. When he didn’t give me a choice, I didn’t want to be his toy or his wife, and now that I’m neither, I desperately want to be one or the other, preferably both. I’ll settle for anything he gives. There has to be hope, because he still gets hard for me. It’s difficult to hide when he’s working out in his sweatpants or swimming in his trunks.
Tonight, I cook his favorite dishes––lamb roast, green beans with bacon, and fried potatoes––and set a table with candles outside. Rhett, Quincy, and Charlie are dining inside, as usual. The falter in Gabriel’s step when he comes downstairs and sees the romantic setting in the garden almost has my courage failing.
Meeting him at the bottom of the staircase, I take his arm and lead him outside, not giving him the choice of heading for the dining room.
Without a word, he seats me and takes the opposite chair.
His gaze moves over the meal. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just dinner.”
For the first time in a month he meets my eyes directly. “Just dinner?”
“And spending time alone. We’re always with the others, not that I’m complaining. I like them, but…” Damn. My courage fails me.
The look on his face stops me before I can work up the nerve to finish my sentence. A veil falls over his eyes, and a shutter clicks in place. The silence stretches as he regards me with an emotion that slowly breaks through his unreadable expression. Under the thick surface of his mask, I recognize pity.
He pities me. He must think I’m pathetic. Irrational anger spreads through my veins. This is his doing, what he made me. If I’m needy, it’s his fault. If I want him, he’s to blame. How dare he sit there and judge me, feel sorry for me for wanting him? Tears prick at the back of my eyes. No matter how fast I bat my eyelashes, I can’t blink them away. One slips free, two… Goddamn. Do I have to show weakness after weakness?
The mask slips another fraction as he reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Don’t.”
Don’t cry? Don’t want? Don’t feel? I want to shout and hurt him like I’m hurting, but I sniff my tears away and force my irrational hormones down.
“I’m trying so hard…” My voice cracks on the last word. I can’t carry on speaking for the fear of sobbing all over the roast.
He rubs a thumb over my knuckles. “You don’t have to try, beautiful.”
I don’t have to try what? Staring at him through my tears, I will him to explain, but he doesn’t.
He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the back. “You need your strength. Shall I dish up for you?”
My heart shatters into tiny shards. It takes everything I have to take my rejection gracefully and not jump and fight him like a bitch in heat. I nod. When he’s busy dishing food onto my plate I quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. It’ll be easier for him to just let me go.
“Gabriel?” I wait until he faces me. “Set me free.”
His eye turn hard. “I already told you it’s not going to happen.” He puts down the spoon. “Eat. Your food’s getting cold.”
I vowed to take whatever I could get. Looks like I’m settling for being an unwanted responsibility.
