The Artist's Wife (BWWM)

Chapter 15~ Trust You

The house was as quiet and lifeless as a chorus girl at getting-up time, and I found peace and solace in it. My eyes skimmed the words on my laptop screen as I slowly exhaled the rich smoke from my nostrils.

I had spent the better part of the day alone on this kitchen counter, working and wearing only my comfortable, grey sweatpants and a black, lacy bra. The Jade-Eyed Bastard had been out all day doing God knows what, and at this point, I couldn't determine what I felt towards the guy especially since the other night that we had talked.

For one thing, we had stopped ignoring each other and mainly just regarded each other politely, greeting when we ran into each other. Meaning that I stopped glaring at him and he stopped giving me that blank, uninterested look that had been replaced by a look of pure curiosity. Almost like he was trying to understand how my mind worked, even I didn't know how it worked.

Lance says we're in our awkward phase, I say that Lance is on crack.

I placed the cigarette stick between my lips and angrily read the report one more time before picking up my phone and dialling my secretary, Dora who picked up at the first ring.

"Good evening, Mrs White," she greeted respectfully, and I could imagine her giving a small bow as she talked.

"I told you not to direct all these personal mails to me, you sort them and pick the important ones," I said, exhaling the smoke through my nose and mouth this time. "I don't wanna see this shit, that's your job."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I must have sent it by mistake, it won't happen again."

"Make sure it doesn't," I murmured, hanging up and staring desolately at the bright screen. I took another deep puff of the cigarette and reached for the faded, pink shoebox on the counter. I dragged the box which served as a container of memories that I wished I could burn in the deepest, darkest part of hell. My black painted nails lingered on the lid and after a moment of consideration, I opened the damn box.

And I immediately regretted that decision.

I reached into the box and brought out the familiar pictures and felt sick to the gut. I slowly went through the solid proof that I was a damaged woman and wondered for the billionth time why I couldn't bring myself to destroy the evidence. The only proof I had against those monsters. I told Lance I had destroyed these pictures years ago back when all the problems just started.

But I didn't have the heart to do it. The pictures could get me justice, but at what price? The whole world finding out my dirty secrets. Wonder what everyone would think of the seemingly perfect and lucky Mrs White after that?

I dismissed the thought of going public almost as fast as it came, what was the use anyway? It would only bring her back into my life. Only a few people knew the contents of this box, namely my tormentors and Lance. I had shown him the box after the incidents had passed because he was the only one I could truly trust.

I ran my hand through my curls as I remembered how Lance and I had started our friendship.

We were just six at the time and it all started when he walked up to me during recess and made a racist comment about my skin colour. I got up did the most natural thing, and slapped him hard across the face and that slap evolved into over twenty years of close friendship...