Our Bruised Bodies | Bradley Bradshaw

ACT FIVE - PART ELEVEN

Grace arrived home unannounced. On an early Friday afternoon during a dying summer. She was 25 and felt like soon, she would be ancient.

Crossing the pavement, she noticed the stone path that had still been leading up to the front porch as she left, was replaced with new stone.

Her white Jeep was parked further done in the driveway under the carboard, leaving space for the Bronco to park under the carboard too, a cover thrown over it to protect it from the salty sea air, only the tyres visible. Unused in her absence.

Dropping her duffle bag right in front of her front door, grace noticed the unfamiliar flowers blooming in the dooryard as she climbed over a small bush to reach the fence, separating the street from their property, only to reach up to grab the hardwood fence that was taller than her husband by some. Grace braced himself against the top of the fence, grumbling about forgotten keys while she threw her leg over the fence to sit on top of it for a moment, holding onto the hard wood tightly, before swinging her other over the fence too and jumping down to land in the garden shared with their parents.

They don't lock the French doors leading out into the shared garden, not since they mostly used it to move between the houses, and since Grace did not have a key for her own home, that was her best bet, since she sure as hell won't wait for her husband to come home sitting on the porch or the Hollywood swing there.

Finding herself lucky, Grace entered the house, instantly noticing that an entire bookshelf was missing from the living room, causing her to wonder what her husband was doing, especially because those were mostly her books which had been stored in that massive shelf.

Letting her gaze move though the room, Grace noticed that the shelf wasn't the only thing that seemingly had fallen victim to her husband rearranging and also removing some of their shared things. The house felt unfamiliar, as if it's no longer "theirs."

There was a picture of them from during their academy time missing from where it had been put up on the sideboard, replaced by a potted plant. Some of the decoration she had put up as they moved in has vanished and football fan articles, just as a pair of swords have found their way onto their house's walls.

Also, the whole fucking couch was new. She didn't even want to know why. It most likely fell victim to spilled beer during an exciting game or hot sauce that stained the fabric out of clumsiness.

This house no longer felt like home. It was so foreign. As if she has walked into an IKEA advertise for a bachelors' apartment or a man's lair. All female touch removed. No one would guess that a married couple was living here, and it really wasn't the case, was it now? He really was living his life without her, wasn't he?

When has the very house they lived in turned into a silent observer of their fractured marriage?

Biting her lip, Grace felt the need to do something about this, for it was outrageous, how easily she, all trace of her presence had been removed. As if this has never been her home, as if this house was no longer supposed to give her the comfort a real home provided one with.

Not able to hold herself back, she moved over to the couch, only to feel around it, trying to find a lash or something, an opening, hoping she would find her many pillows and blankets which were missing stored away in the belly of the couch, which thankfully was the case, which is why she pulled out the grey cashmere blanket, her favourite and some fitting dark green pillows to put up against the couch.

So, there you have it. Reconquered. All this space, it was almost too easy to make myself at home again. I'm such a fucking fool. I can't really be angry at him or offended because he actually lives in our house.