Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

V

My hand falls roughly to my side as Tony releases his grip on my open fist right as we arrive at the white limousine which has been designated to take us home.

I sigh softly as very quickly, another of my expectations is hurled to the ground and dashed when he slides into the vehicle without opening my door for me. I had expected him to be a gentleman in that way, but apparently I had hoped for too much. As always.

The lighting in the car is dark and its interior is smooth and cold to the touch. Its leathery feel and interior decor is exactly like the limo that had taken me to the wedding earlier in the morning. There is nothing exactly fancy or interesting enough to catch my attention and so I sink into my seat, basking in the rays of heat–that contrast the crisp air of my new environment–emitted from the warm body of my husband sitting next to me.

Despite my effort at being composed, I can't help but giggle silently at the thought. My husband. The fact that I am finally able to call him my spouse shoots sweet, delicious tingles down my spine. Reclining even further in my position, I let my lips spread in a smile of satisfaction as I await the next step of whatever journey I'll need to embark on with him.

Yes, I am still scared. That hasn't changed. What, with all my numerous secrets, it is close to impossible to not be worried for the future and what it holds for me. My warring with the butterflies that continuously cartwheel around in my fragile stomach is also inevitable as it is not what I can force to subside or dare complain about.

"Isi, what is wrong?" The sound of his voice startles me and I whip my head quickly to the left where he is beside me.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." I reply in a small voice.

"Alright." He nods then knocks twice on the screen separating us from the driver, and the car smoothly sails into motion.

As we set off, I retreat into myself with another novel set of troubling thoughts. I find it just a tad disturbing at the trait he's recently been exhibiting which encompasses paying detailed and more than-is-needed attention to my countenance and actions as well. I should be excited about this, I know. But I'm not.

I can't be happy or think about being so when it comes to his attentiveness because it is evident that this new development puts me at risk. It puts all the plans I have in motion at risk. Worst of all, it puts my very life at risk.

What would happen if anyone found out I was a murderer? I feel my stomach stagger at this, and speedily, I force myself to banish the thought into my dark chasm of unwanted throngs of unpleasantness.

Albeit the offset of my musings regarding any rising possibility of my secrets being discovered, the bile still rises to my gullet, threatening to upsurge past my willpower which consciously struggles to suppress its outflow.

Swallowing hard and repeatedly does not help in the tiniest bit as the urge to throw up increases and my lips quiver, wanting to give way to the vile liquid burning my throat. I search frantically for an instrument that could be used as a bowl, but I have no luck finding any.

"Isi?" Tony calls at sighting of my most likely bulging eyes and panic-stricken movements. But I can't talk. My hand clasps over my mouth, forming a muzzle as the nausea tears me from inside out.

A wine chiller is shoved under my jaw just in time and I let my former breakfast spew straight into the cooler of ice cubes. Like a projectile missile, the foul contents of my bowels launch out with a ferocity that shakes all of my being.

Over and over again, my stomach contracts violently and I can't stop the now dry-heaves that usurp my determination to hold back the wheezing and rasping.