Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Nelson only picked at my steak and potatoes, but he downed at least half a bottle of wine.
“Why don’t you just leave?” He asked finally, the only words he’d spoken to me since we had arrived home. I lay my knife and fork down with resignation.
“If this is about earlier…”
“Yes! It damn well is about earlier!” It took me a moment to register the fact that he was shaking.
“Nelson…” I reached across the table to grip his hand, but he pushed me away, and the wine bottle with it. It clattered off the table and smashed on the floor, wine blooming on the blonde wood of the floor like blood.
“Just calm down…”
“Don’t talk to me like a child!” He thundered. “Why did you marry me, Sarah? You could have saved yourself so much regret. You could have bagged yourself a nice bloke who could provide you with a lorry load of kids, you could have had a million dollar makeover every day, Gucci handbags up to your eyeballs, an island off the coast of Egypt, glass slippers!” He paused to take a long gulp of wine from his near empty glass.
“You know why I married you?” I asked quietly. Nelson snorted.
“Beats me,” he shrugged, pulling a face.
“I married you because I knew you’d take care of me. I knew that whatever I did, whoever I was, you would bring out the best in me always.” Nelson’s face hardened to the point where it looked like it would crack with pain.
“Do you have any idea how this feels for me?” He leaned over the table, a vein throbbing in his forehead, the hand gripping the wine glass shaking. “Do you, really, Sarah?”
“Nel…”
“No.” He lifted his arm, and threw the wine glass over my head. It smashed against our wedding picture, framed on the wall.
“You have no idea,” He hissed. Then, he straightened up, the anger ebbing away. “We need some more wine.” He grabbed his coat, hanging on the back of the door, and stormed out.
“Nelson!” I cried, a second too late. My voice echoed around the empty walls of our marital home.
I took a cloth and scraped up the sharp glass pieces and wiped the wine dregs off the walls. I took our wedding photo down, and gazed at it for a few moments.
Two years ago, and it didn’t seem two minutes. I looked positively glowing. My dark hair was curled tightly; the dress, a simple silk A-line flowed at the cinch of my hips and spilt onto the rich mossy grass. Nelson held me in a tight embrace, his lips inches from mine. It captured a moment where time had not existed.
I lay the cracked frame down on the table, and then ran from the room, choking on the hot tears that grew in my throat like a noose. It was my hanging, my funeral.
Nelson did not come home that night.
YOU ARE READING
One Kiss... (Completed)
Teen FictionToby White is sixteen, and he lives in Springfield Falls with his mum and sister, Lottie following his parents’ messy divorce. Confused, and frustrated, he turns to his English teacher, Sarah Locke for support, but when one kiss turns into many, can...
