"You don't want me..." I breathed, selfishly leaning into his touch. But I quickly pull away.
"I'm different and so not your type," I muttered, looking everywhere else but at him. He frowns slightly, eyes simmering.
"God, Anna." He exhaled, cool bre...
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ANNA
Michael, did run me a bath. It was nice...Warm and soothing, I liked it. I agreed because, in the end, we were both trying to avoid each other. He doesn't want to talk about falling back into his bad habit of smoking and I don't want to watch him struggle with his words—trying to find his own way of apologizing or making it up to me.
But, Let's take it one obstacle at a time. Let's face it, I wanted him to fight, to make things right. I wanted him to realize how stupid this was and how bad he hurt me. Now he's here and I'm making it harder for him.
so he's forgiven?Not yet.
I filed for a divorce.
Keep telling yourself that. you still care.
I couldn't bring myself to sign it. Deep down I didn't want to throw away all that I had. I called Michael a coward for hiding his true emotions behind his rage. What would it make me if I used the quick way out, without fighting or trying to mend what's broken. Moreover, I know the man I'm married to would light the world on fire before he signs those papers.
Michael clears his throat as I buttoned up my pajama shirt. pink and soft. The warm bath I had was so relaxing. And of course, I kicked him out after his help. his gaze slowly trailed on the soft fabric, looking over me as my fingers swiftly worked with each button. Michael once told me that the reason he started smoking was because he saw his father appease his pain through that. Javan's way of escaping reality was to drown himself in alcohol and tons of cigarettes. So when Michael hit rock bottom at times, he thought it good to have a taste. It worked for a short moment. Taking his mind off his problems, but he was never at peace. I couldn't just sit back and watch him hurt himself. Thankfully, his problem was just with smoking and not drinking. There were times he cried in my arms begging me to take his misery away. He deserved better. That's why I understand his harsh emotions towards his father trying to just sweep everything under the rug in pursuit of a fresh start.
I finally let go of my shirt and looked up, meeting his eyes. Michael swallowed, his pronounced Adam's apple bobs up and down, embers of desire dancing in those raven orbs and my body squirmed under his eagle eye scrutiny.
his lips parted to speak, but he shuts them again. Whatever he was thinking about, Set's ablaze the heat in his eyes, his features hardened and his jaw ticked. the powerful gaze he had did not even falter.
"Why are you staring at me?" I muttered and he shook his head. nothing . Those dark irises moved down, trained on my breasts a couple of time before He quickly looked away and I smiled to myself.
"What's that for?" I nodded toward the bottle of oil he had in his hand. where did he get it?
"your feet," he simply said.
my feet? I looked down, then back at him.
oh yea, they're still swollen.
I strut over to the king-size bed covered in dark sheets any teenager would own. yes. The room I was staying in was Michael's old bedroom. When I arrived the night of our argument six months ago, I didn't hesitate when Zara asked if I wanted to occupy his or have one of the guest rooms.
