Forever Changed

Chapter 30: Tattoos and Talking

Angelique POV

(1 Year Married)

T/W Talk of miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, eating disorder

It felt like I'd only just fallen asleep when I felt someone running their fingers through my hair gently. Antony must have felt bad for how he spoke to me and returned earlier than planned to check on me. I felt myself inwardly cringe at the thought he'd returned to find me sleeping again, not working on coursework as I'd promised. I hated that I'd disappointed him yet again. 

Slowly pushing myself to a sitting position I realised it wasn't Antony waking me up, it was Mattia. I should have known. Antony was gentle with me, but he wouldn't run his fingers through my hair, that was too intimate a touch for us. 

What was Mattia doing here? Had I slept so long he was coming to bed? Looking towards the window I could see the sun showing through the curtains so I knew it wasn't too late in the day. 

"Angel have you been in bed since Antony left? He said you were going to do your course work today."

I couldn't find words to answer him. All I could do was slowly blink my heavy eyes. Something was wrong, what was Mattia doing home early and why was he talking to me about course work? We didn't do this. I'd made sure he stayed away with my words and my threats. He'd tried so hard since the morning after those vile words in the hospital. I could feel his genuine regret for what he'd said, could feel his anger with himself, but I found I didn't have it in me to care. Didn't have it in me to forgive him and risk being hurt like that again. 

When I first came home from the hospital he'd been so earnest and attentive. Genuinely trying to make up for his mistakes. But I couldn't stand it. It felt like his pain only added to mine so I'd told him I wasn't ready to talk. To give me time. I'd given in to sleeping in his bed because if I attempted to sleep in another room he simply carried me to his bed. That meant he had to touch me while I was awake and I found I couldn't tolerate his hands on me without wanting to cry. His touch made me think of those bruises on his throat in the hospital. When he'd tried to explain what he'd done that night I'd shut him down. I didn't need a replay of what he'd been up to while I'd been unconscious in a hospital bed. 

That first month I was home he'd sit on the bed and attempt to engage me in conversation. Try to talk through what had happened. Try to apologise. I'd tell him I was tired and turn my back and ignore him. Once I was more healed he tried again. At that point I explained that I didn't want or need his apologies and what I really wanted was for him to leave me alone. He didn't. He would try to get me to watch a movie with him or take a walk in the garden like we used to. I couldn't stand his kindness. I didn't deserve it so again I simply turned my back and ignored him. Ignored all attempts to engage with me. All attempts to fix what he'd broken. Once I'd turn my back I'd lay there in silence and wait until he'd leave. Sometimes he'd sit there for hours. 

He hadn't given up though, working from home for four months, much to his father's disapproval, he would drop by our room during the day and check on me. Bringing my favourite drinks and food. I could see on his face he was worried by how little I was eating. It gave me a sick sense of satisfaction to see him upset by my actions. It was something I could control in a world that felt so out of control and I liked it. He learned that I wouldn't refuse food if Antony or Mia brought it to me, I wouldn't eat much, just a few mouthfuls, but I wouldn't outright refuse. They would sit with their full plates while I moved some food around my plate and ate a small amount. Their conversations filling up the quiet room. 

When I woke up on my birthday to find a beautifully wrapped present and vase of sweet pea flowers on my bedside table I'd lost it. My birthday reminded me of his mother's birthday and everything that happened from the moment we left the house. Losing her. Losing my baby. Losing my husband.  And ultimately losing myself. I couldn't help but lash out and scream at him.