At His Mercy

Part 8

I feel fingers dig into my elbow and I am more or less pulled into another room, as I step back into the house. It looks like a study. Mahogony cabinets line the wall with deep green and Burgundy leather bound books. It's a dark room and the window at the far end of the room cast shadows within it

'What the hell was that?' Adam bites out angrily in his low voice so no-one will hear us 'stop playing games!' he says raking his hand through his hair. He's so angry I can see some veins bulging on his forehead. Despite a flash of fear, from being manhandled, I smile inwardly, something akin to satisfaction settles inside me Good!'I think. Perhaps he will realise he doesn't have all the power. Perhaps he will decide to end this ridiculous facade quicker.

The feelings and thoughts I've had all morning, at first were niggling doubts about pretty much everything, but the more that I reflect on the situation and Adam, the more I feel uncertain of what is really happening between us. It looks like I don't know anything about Adam. Either the man I married 6 years ago was a lie or the one before me now is a stranger. But the truth is that I was wrong then and I have to admit I don't think I can handle a another misjudgement on that scale again. I don't know how I survived the last one, but this, I can see my mind playing tricks on me already. I'm making allowances for him, smiling at him. what was that in there? It was nothing short of flirting. I was provoking him. It was pure mischief.

I can feel the irritation creeping up on me. How dare he blame me for this whole situation? He should have thought about all this before he decided to create this impossible situation, which is nothing short of coersion. We're people, not little puppets he can control in any which way he choses.
I square my shoulder lifting my chin and look straight at him. 'Don't you dare have a go at me. Am- Aunty Ji thinks I'm here to stay. You haven't told her have you? Have you even thought about what is going to happen when I leave? because you know what- I actually like her and this makes me feel really uncomfortable-'

I have hardly finished my sentence before Adam turns on me suddenly scoffing. 'Don't you dare tell me you've suddenly developed a conscience!' He sniggers 'You only care about one person, that's yourself!' His words are cruel, clipped and spoken with such hate, I stare in silence at him. He clearly doesn't know me either.

I can't believe he thinks so lowly of me. I have been nothing but reasonable. The fact that i am here shows he has me at his mercy. Ive given up everything, put my whole life on hold for him and still im the selfish one? 'Arsehole!' I say 'You fucking arsehole! You left me!' And then as I'm about to turn and leave, I see him lift his hand and I swear in that single moment I think he's going to hit me. His face is contorted with rage, all harsh angles and there is nothing but pure fire in his eyes. Fear grips me and I am frozen to the spot, but he punches the cabinet door beside my head. It crunches on impact and I stare in shock at him.

It happens in slow motion, but the look on his face is one I will never forget. In those seconds after, It's not fury, but an agonised look I see etched there. It makes me stop, rather than storm out. I stare at him, bewildered. But he doesn't meet my eyes. His head is down, leaning on his forearm against the crumpled cabinet. Then he straightens up, without making eye contact, he side steps me and leaves the room. I stand there. Just stand there in the same spot. Frozen.
Guilt creeping up on me- without even knowing why. It would have been better if he'd shouted, said hurtful things but his silence as he leaves is the worst.

Perhaps this is going to be 3 months from hell. How can we possibly survive it, if we bring out these extreme emotions in each other? It was never like this before, we never disagreed on anything or if we did the other always conceded. Being right just didn't matter- when being together was more important. We had one argument. One argument in the whole 6 months. It was the first and last.

A sadness fills my chest and I leave the study, making my way up to our bedroom. Perhaps I should just stay in there, let things calm down between us. As I open he door, I hear the tap in the bathroom running. I move immediately towards it. The door is ajar and Adam is stood with his hand under the sink faucet. I can see his reflection in the mirror, he is staring into nothing. I open the door further and step into the room. Standing behind him, I peer over his shoulder. our eyes meet in the mirror. We look at each other, all the bitterness, anger, resentment in that one look. It's all there and. . . . Vulnerability. Perhaps there is something damaged in him too, something so broken that it feels like I'm looking at myself. I reach out to take his hand in the sink. Immediately, he flinches and tries to pull it away. I am much more persistent. I tug it back and move around him to look at it. His knuckles are grazed and there is a cut on one, that will require stitches. I take the towel and pat it dry, putting pressure on the skin to close the cut temporarily.

'what did the cupboard door ever do to you?!' I say in a serious tone aiming for some feeble attempt at humour. Still looking at his hand, lifting the cloth aside to take a look, I examine the damage beneath it. 'you should go down stairs and apologise, there it was minding its own business -' and then he's kissing me. One hand cupping my chin, his other hand between us. His hand feels warm on my neck, a little rough, but there is something comforting in it's strength. The kiss begins gentle, uncertain, then it deepens and it becomes more desperate, communicating a need in us both, which I can't help but respond to. He tastes warm and sweet, fragrant cardamen on his breath. Firm and yet gentle, all at the same time.
I kiss him back and then my hands are around his neck. It feels right. His skin is warm and firm to the touch and so Satisfying, a novel feeling after all these years. He deepens the kiss and i instinctively match his need. I lean into him, feel the muscles in his shoulders bunch under my fingers as he wraps his arms around me. Closer.
Slowly, we coast down from the storm of desperation which has been simmering between us and he draws back a little, resting his forehead against mine. Eyes closed as if it hurts him to do it. His breathing uneven.
I'm breathless too, suffering from the inertia of his touch. I try to steady my own breathing.
Taking a deep breath, he mutters in a voice so low, I question whether i even heard him right: 'I didn't leave you Aya, I just didn't know how to make you come with me.' And then he's gone.
And i sit there, staring at the empty space where he stood moments ago. Feeling the same anguish I did 5 years earlier. But this time, as i look down, all i can see is Adam's blood - on my hands.