𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

58 - Apologies.

They would have argued every day.

She’d probably say something against how he preferred the closed windows, with the drapes concealing all the glorious sunshine the room can take up in the morning while she already begins to make the bed and he was still in it.

He would have complained back since he believed she shops for plants too much, and the garden was getting too cramped in the backyard. Then, she would remind him that his memory was way more constricted because he forgets that it’s his turn to wash the dishes today, and their little boy was going to be late again for class.

Springs would have been fun in the chateau his grandfather Jacques owns in Paris, and their summers would be busy. He could see her making a fuss each humid mid noon since the Orchids she propagated were slightly drying up and he was just standing there, laughing, instead of giving her a hand and she’d say she was glad their son didn’t inherit his poor gardening skills.

Autumns could be all radio, red scarves and Paul Anka crooning “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” in the evening, with their foreheads pressed together and he’d find her eyes at the middle of the verse to read them like he did when they first met.

They would be lazy in the winter. They wouldn’t dare to acknowledge the sun’s presence. She’ll also probably ask why there are too many mistletoes hanging everywhere, and he’d wink and show her an all-knowing grin only she could recognize. Tattered wrapping paper would litter the floor around the tree, and their boy would most likely chant out his gratitude for the gift he just received, like the soft, polite child he is.

They’d just look at him, simply—because everything was already theirs.

But Pierre opened his eyes.

She was actually sitting there at the edge of what seemed like his bed, her head quickly whirling towards his direction. Helena bit her lip, anxious, not wanting to meet his weary gaze, and he was so sure she was holding something awfully familiar in her right hand, and she better give it back.

“L-let go of it,” He darkly rasped, groggily doing his best to lift himself from where he laid. The brunette shook her head, her expression hardening, for the countless time ever since they met again. Her concern was soon guised with a glare, as in a flash, his anti-depressant pills were tossed into the bin beside the nightstand.

“Helena! What the hell was that for?! Those were–”

“You keep swallowing those after a sip from your wine, after a meal, after your body feels like it. What are you trying, Pierre?! I found you in the bathroom, out cold, one of those little devils in the palm of your hands!”

A mirthless chuckle slipped past Pierre’s dry mouth, “So that’s how much it’ll take for you to care about me, huh, ‘Lena?”

“Damn you, Pierre.”

“No, no, I think you got it all wrong, really,” Pierre bitterly laughed, “I hate you. I hate that you just love to barge in and out of my life whenever you want without thinking maybe I take those pills to live, to forget that you ran and you took what was left of me with you.”

“I had no place in your life, for godsakes, Pierre,” Helena coldly rebuked, “And I was already struggling to find my place in my own.”

“You were the one who had an abusive husband. I did my best to fit in yours!”

“Just because you did your best to keep a battered woman doesn’t mean you made it all easier for her to be with you!” She yelled, “Do you even know how hard it was for me to hide my pregnancy for a month, nevertheless make it seem like it was my ex-husband’s?!”