Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED) Wattys2018

Chapter LXI - MY IMMORTAL

The vase that he would always wake up to, resting on top of the side table of his godforsaken suite in this old castle ends up breaking into a thousand pieces after he crashes it on the floor due to so much anger and frustration right after his "so-called" wife walks out of the room with a broken hearted face for the tenth time now.

He's turning into something that even he himself is afraid of. He isn't just becoming a grumpy old troll...gradually he is becoming a monster... her monster as he always seem to be taking out his anger on that bloody woman...

Bloody beautiful woman who happens to be his wife for only God knows how long now.

He breathes hard cupping his aching temple as pain shots through it. Igniting the veins in his brains to the point like they will explode out of his cracked skull.

"Mr. Walton..." the nurse who looks more like a body builder calls on him with his annoyingly squeaky voice.

Gabrielle would always call on his nurse for help and he wonders if this bloody man is being paid by his wife just as a "nurse" or as something else to warm her bed at night.

He obviously couldn't play that part now.

And she is after all, known for jumping from one fucking bed to another.

Glaring at the man in front of him, Vincent tries his best to reach out for the bloody walker beside his bed.

Of course, he couldn't walk... yet.

And Gabrielle reminding him not to push himself too much with that oddly soft and kind voice of her agitates him to the hilt that he ended up throwing the tray of food she had in her hand before hitting her arm much to this boy toy and her surprise.

He saw her clenching her jaws before calmly exhaling as she looks up. Then she was gone the next second.

Bloody woman is getting the worst out of him with her concerned sounding voice that he knows so well is just an act.

As far as he could remember, Gabrielle Ralph Davis is not the sweetest and kindest of all women. Whether she is sweet and submissive in bed is another thing... which he couldn't remember too.

It has been more or less five minutes now. And here he is, his rage still flaming...but more than for and towards her, his rage is more than for him now.

He hates himself so much for not being able to do the simplest of things that he used to. For having to be fed by that bloody sin of a woman. For having to feel her soft and fragile body next to him whenever she is turning him around so that according to her, he won't have a bedsore.
Or having her holding his feet whenever she's making him stretch his knees as the first and one of the most important parts of his therapy. He hates her having to do the things he should be doing himself!

But more than that, he hates himself for having to feel his heart skip a beat whenever he sees those fucking dimples on both sides of her cheeks even when she isn't smiling so widely. Her cheekbones, just like her warm kind eyes are pulling him to hell for thinking of sins he could be doing to her beautiful face and body has he not been stacked on his wheelchair.

Again, he breathes hard before rubbing his face as he tries to stand up using the walker only to almost slump on the hard wooden floor if the nurse weren't quick enough to catch his fall.

That bloody woman used to catch him too whenever his knees would betray him during his attempts to at least stand on his own.

He curses as the nurse effortlessly reaches for his wheelchair and lifts him a bit until he's thrown back onto it again.