Wife
The world was indeed a very small, cramped space, because the thought that I would see him again never crossed mind.
The years changed him. The loving, laid-back man I used to love was gone, and in his place is a cruel, calculating hunter. I d...
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Thalia
"Wake up, Nara." I heard in my ear, as a hand caressed the side of my face and fingers shifted through my hair. "Come on, baby, get up."
I blinked and, right away, I noticed that my head was no longer on Ryder's shoulder. It was now resting on his chest and my body was half on top of his and half on the couch. I blinked faster to clear my vision and then I slowly lifted my head to look up into Ryder's face.
"How long was I asleep?"
"I don't know, couple hours. It's already nine."
My eyes widened. I couldn't possibly slept that long and not notice Ryder move me. I lifted a little more to look around the room. It looked just like before—black painted the walls, white ceiling and white-tiled floor. There was only one couch and that was where we were. The room didn't have that much ornaments, just the huge television, speakers, Ryder's gaming console, and my small collection of movies—that, surprisingly were still there.
"Can we go to my apartment today, Ryder?"
A pause. "Yeah, sure. But we shouldn't linger, Perez's men might still be roaming around the area."
He stood off the couch and I followed his lead.
On the way up the stairs, I noticed several colorful and awkwardly cut glasses embedded on the last three steps before the second floor that weren't there before—before I left. They were beautiful to look at, a stark contrast of the whiteness of the walls and floors.
I stopped at the fourth step and admired them. Ryder stopped a level below me.
"I had to have someone put something in those to cover the bullet holes." Ryder's deep voice filled the silence.
I whirled to face him. "Bullet holes?"
What was he doing? Did someone broke into the house and he had to fight them?
He took hold of my hand and led me up the rest of the stair-steps.
"I sat on the last step, planning to take my life, but I was too drunk to even hold the gun steady."
I looked at his strong back as we walked in the bedroom. I couldn't fathom any reply to what he had said, so I just willed the errant thoughts of him attempting to kill himself to stop.
"I couldn't even remember what day that was—or year, because I was ass-drunk. Just that, one night, the thought that maybe you were happily living your life and didn't need me anymore crossed my mind. It felt like my purpose was gone, so I should be gone too." He shrugged it like it was nothing.
I sat on the unmade bed. I didn't know what to feel or say to what he had just revealed.
"First try was on the temple, but the gun slipped out of my grip before I could even pull the trigger, cracked the tile. The others were the bullets hitting the wrong target as my attempts fail."
