Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

IV

"And how is that my fault?" I really am slowly losing it at his unnecessarily pissy attitude.

"Look at me when you talk." He says not softly, and after a few seconds of stubborn, deliberate hesitation, I comply.

"I asked, how is whatever Walter said about me my fault?"

"Whenever did I say it was?" His eyes are firmly on mine, holding my gaze but then he suddenly lets them drop to my chest where they squint along with a slight rise of the eyebrow as they take in the elaborate view.

Underneath his hot gaze, I feel my self confidence melting away and it thoroughly and uneasily confuses me. I had expected not to feel self-conscious about my droopy breasts with him, seeing as they are one of my most cherished features despite their many flaws, but I do.

It's just something about the way his lips suddenly crinkle–almost similar to the expression of disgust–and the manner in which his bottom lip soon sags down as if in dissatisfaction, that makes me want to zip myself up in a coverall.

Biting on my index finger, I try to stop being paranoid. Tony is the man I've been waiting to marry all along. I have dreamt of him for years, since we were young runners, before I could love the kind of love that lovers did, before I could understand the meaning of deeper emotions and the sexual feelings that accompanied them. I'd loved him.

I loved him while I was still trying to love myself. Loving him saved me, and I will never forget the misery I lived through in all those years without him. Now that we are finally husband and wife, I would make sure nothing would destroy the happiness in our home. We would love, show our love to and make sweet love to each other till the day we could no more.

Believe it Cara. Believe it.

"The dress was a bit too tight." I offer a few, lowly murmured words as a form of explanation.

"I see." He nods once, curtly. Then he sets to work. I watch quietly, puzzled as to why he is unbuttoning his jacket if we are leaving soon.

His dress shirt is still crisp and neat from the dry cleaner when he takes off the suit, to the point that I can even see the few straight lines where it was pressed.

It's hard not to swoon at his broad, well formed shoulders; so hard that I have to look away. I swallow repeatedly, yet my efforts are not enough to rid the lump lodged in my throat. So I ignore its presence and instead turn back my attention on my spouse who has an unreadable expression on his face.

I let out an overweight sigh in response, tired of interpreting hidden emotions and whatnot. First it was Walter purposefully concealing his emotions, and now it's Tony's turn at the ball.

Sadly, I have had enough for today and there is not a single ounce of strength left in me for unnecessary analysis or another seemingly endless round of worry.

"Are you okay?" He surprises me with his question and the look of concern on his face. Was this the same man who was on the verge of raving a few minutes ago?

"What? I mean, yes I am. Why?"

"You seem exhausted." Is the quick reply as he hurriedly slides his gaze off mine. "Well, since you are alright. We should start going now."

I give him a weird look before answering. "Alright. We should." Just how many times had he announced our leaving the hospital and yet we were still where we were?

Honestly, I'm not sure what I want anymore. I've wanted to leave and go home with him since I regained consciousness, but now, not so much. Now, I have a visitor in the embodiment of reluctance, holding a post where I'd never thought it would.