Twenty-five

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I know I acted irrationally crazy but what I actually feel is anger

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I know I acted irrationally crazy but what I actually feel is anger. I'm deeply confused about whether I want to stay in my marriage or not. Perhaps there's a part of me that wishes Patrick is still the same man who'd do about anything to keep my smile, but unfortunately he keeps doing the opposite every new day.

I miss the old, loving husband I once felt madly in love with. I miss the man who was able and willing to cross the ocean for me, while now I feel like he can't even jump a paddle for that same reason. All he wants is power and control over everything and everyone around him—something I can't allow in my case.

"I'm no one's property," I breathe as I keep walking slowly toward the beach, my car long abandoned somewhere.

The Columbia river's shoreline streams serenely with its golden sand and shallow water that sparks radiantly at the sun beaming gently. I get lost into the horizon, the sky a clear turquoise with light cotton-like clouds floating in harmony, a soft breeze such a fine tune into my ears despite my emotions.

What is it that I truly want? I start asking myself. As much as I desire to be free, the idea of leaving my nine years marriage doesn't sound like child's play. Patrick and I have been through a lot—good and bad—and even if I'm angry at him, he's still an important part of my life, I can't erase that.

And what about Red? The thought of him makes me wrap my arms around my chest as though it's suddenly cold. Why don't I want to be away from him? Why is my desire toward him so strong and irresistible than I actually want to admit? I think I need to make a hard decision, and very soon.

Three hours later I return to the office and spend the rest of the evening working nonstop. I always use anger as motivation and I'm glad today is no exception. In the MK workshop, I drape the black sequin fabric on the mannequin, feeling in the mood to make a dress after everyone's departure for the day.

"Ma'am," Leslie calls, standing at the door. I don't turn around, my eyes and hands utterly busy. "Are you going to work all night? Are you sure you're okay?" She sounds tired, a poor thing.

I remove the pin between my lips, my eyes focused on the patterns of the dress. "Worry about yourself, girl. Go home and rest because tomorrow we have a long day," I reply, pinning the front bodice.

"Okay. Bye." It's seven-thirty as Leslie walks away.

Taking a pause from my project, I stride toward the large wooden table filled with several items—tailoring supplies and a bottle of red wine. With a sigh, I remove the tape measure from my neck and throw it on the table. My gaze wanders around the room: bikini model pictures, the purple MK logo, and several sketches cover the walls.

The fire once ruined this room but it's all good now, I think to myself. In the end every storm shall pass, right? Nothing is permanent after all. I know things are hard at the moment but in time they'll get better. Mindful, I grab the glass and wipe off the red wine I've been having. Sweet and delicious, Zinfandel always boosts my mood.

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