Irreparable - Hannibal Lecter

004 Wine

Emily swirled the bottom of the wine in her glass, her lips pursed in distaste. The wine Thomas had chosen for dinner was bitter and unpleasant, leaving a lingering aftertaste that ruined her palate for anything else. She couldn't understand his fascination with these expensive wines, delivered based on descriptions and recommendations. Every two weeks, a new bottle would arrive, a testament to his need for adventure and exploration, as he had called it. But to Emily, it all seemed pretentious, a display of his inability to commit to just one good thing.

She brought the glass to her lips, she knew that Thomas would notice if she didn't drink.He would likely launch into a lecture about how her palate was not refined enough to appreciate the nuances of the wine. So, she kept her opinions to herself, forcing herself to take another sip and conceal her true feelings. But deep down, Emily longed for the simplicity of enjoying a glass of wine without the need for deciphering elaborate tasting notes or engaging in discussions about obscure vineyards. She missed the days when a bottle of wine was a delightful companion to a meal.

As she set her glass down, her eyes lingered on the array of wine bottles displayed on the shelf, each one representing a different region, vintage, or varietal. She imagined grabbing the whole row of wine bottles, one by one, and hurling them against the wall. The sound of shattering glass and the sight of the wine splattered across the room would be a cathartic release, a symbolic act of breaking free of pretension The thought of a giant pink pool of wine staining the handmade rug brought a twisted satisfaction to her imagination. But as quickly as the thought arose, Emily pushed it aside.

She took a deep breath before she prepared a smile. It was slightly too large as she spoke to her husband across the table."How was your fishing trip?" she asked, her voice laced with a sense of obligation rather than genuine curiosity. It was a question she asked out of routine, a polite attempt to engage in conversation, maintaining a semblance of normalcy. Thomas paused for a moment, his eyes briefly flickering with excitement as he prepared to share the details of his fishing excursion. He put down his knife and fork and leaned forward. Emily braced herself.
"It was quite eventful actually," Thomas began. "it was a slow start at first, but around noon I managed to catch a sizeable trout. But you know, Emily, I am not particularly fond of trout. It had such a mild flavor. So, I decided to give it to John to take home and have his wife cook it up."

Emily's smile remained in place, though her disappointment lingered beneath the surface.
Maybe she had wished for a shared experience, find joy in his catch together. But once again, Thomas's preferences took precedence. "How nice of you, sweetheart," she replied, her tone masking her slight disappointment. "I'm sure they appreciated the gesture."
Her words carried a silent plea for him to consider her needs and desires as well.
Frustrated, she grabbed her wineglass again and finished up the rest of the glass.
 Pouring another glass out of spire, Emily's hand trembled slightly, fueled by a desire to take something away from Thomas that he enjoyed. The wine cascaded into the glass, filling it to the brim, and a few drops spilled over the rim, staining the pristine white tablecloth underneath.

Setting the half-empty bottle down, she looked across the table at Thomas, her eyes meeting his  ."You want some more, darling?" she asked, her voice slightly deviant.Thomas paused for a moment, caught off guard by the edge in her voice. He looked at the wineglass in front of him, contemplating her offer. As he weighed his response, he noticed the spilled wine on the tablecloth.
''I'll take yours, darling. It seems you've had quite enough already.''
He walked over from his chair and took the glass from her side of the table, wiping the glass before setting it down next to his own plate.
''I haven't actually. Just tired," she responded, watching how he carefully moved the glass up to his lips.  How dare he even take away the small act of rebellion against him.
''Tired?'' he scoffed, ''how can you possibly be tired, darling?''
''Yes tired, I went to meet Dr. Lecter today,'' she answered matter-of-factly. Looking down at the table shortly after, her plate was barely touched, the vegetables growing cold. She took her fork and stabbed at the food.

He seemed unfazed by Emily's mention of seeing Dr. Lecter, and his skepticism toward therapy persisted. With a hint of impatience in his voice, he responded, ''I don't see how talking can make you tired.''Emily's grip on the fork tightened, her frustration mounting. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, determined to express herself clearly in words he would understand. "It takes energy  listening to a therapist's insights.'' She explained, as  choosing her words carefully to keep the specifics of her therapy session private. That's what Thomas wanted anyway. 

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture. "I just think we should focus on our own strengths and figure things out without relying on someone else's opinions."
Emily noticed the irony in his words, coming from a man who couldn't even decide on his own wine and relied on a carefully curated subscription. However, she chose not to point it out, realizing she was too tired to pick another battle. She silently finished her cold food, knowing her mood was already ruined.