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𝐎𝐗𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐄, 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃
FOUR YEARS AGO.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
'It slipped.'
With every passing day, it appeared as if I was a martyr of a lethal and incurable illness he named love, which in reality was only a disguise for aversion and disgust. My aspirations for travel, meeting new people and soaring higher was chopped down. My wings were clipped, feathers plucked and caged with no escape. But this was entirely my fault—I let myself fall into this void.
At that moment, I was afraid. Alone in this spacious basement that was all mine. I was more vulnerable than ever here while Zeke was kipping over. I forced myself to overlook his lies and the shadiness of his present actions, convincing myself that it was for the better even when he enjoyed the company of other women than me. Assuring my cracked heart that the sooner he finds someone else, the sooner this would be over.
I mindlessly stared at the walls, glancing back at the laptop beside Zeke that laid open on my desk with a brand new application for an overseas job. I had my visa, my passport. If I got this post, bless my luck, it could be my ticket out of here. An excuse to go elsewhere. Start something new.
On rare occasions, Zeke was calm. The calm that meant his spirit home was a soft creek in the woods or his spirit animal was a tame lioness, hunting only to protect her kin. Those were the times I felt secure knowing which borders to tread which to forget. He was a dangerous mix of emotions which I had no mind to play around with even if I owned up to the position as his girlfriend. And when his inner misery is affronted, the beast in him awakens where his mere words cut through diamonds. He'd roar, proud of the animal in him, not the least bit trained or shaken by his stances. Which feared me the most. I knew the extent of his pain, the slow anguish—I dreaded it would happen again.
For instance right now, when my knife had missed the mark, a deep fear manifested underneath my skin and raised bumps. I gripped my wrist with a hand, turning to face him with a guilt-ridden expression. With a tight-bound ponytail hanging down my neck, my facial changes were clearly evident.
'Tut tut,' he clucked his tongue, something condescending lying underneath. It made me shrink into my chest. 'You forgot to aim, my love.'
I forced myself to speak. 'But I did—'
'There's a difference,' he cut in, his dark eyes turning stern. 'You were hasty. Wanted to be done with it.' He made a motion with his fingers, a circle as he pushed off from the wall he leaned onto. 'Turn around. Let me teach you.'
