Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

XVII

There's a heaviness to my eyelids as if I'm in dire need of sleep. But I'm not. I'm not worn out in any shape or nature, like I'd thought I'd be after the orientation, either. Yet, there's a persisting weariness permeating my bones, enfeebling their structures, causing my body to react as if it were ill.

It's not my menstrual period. My days of bloody messes are marked on the calendar in my hands, which ordinarily lodges in my top drawer, and today is not one of them. I'm even more certain because there are no cramps or bloatedness to deal with, none of the million sources of uncomfortableness to deal with. What then is the source of my travail? I know it is most definitely not because of what I ate, as I barely ingested anything.

In fact, looking back at the beginning of today, it is somewhat hilarious to me, now that I think of it, that I'd been so excited to scarf down my lunch on the bus like a starved dog. However, when I had the opportunity and suitable time to do so, only a few nibbles had sufficed since I'd felt sick to my stomach.

Every iota of enthusiasm and anticipation was wasted away just like that. Now, my so dearly coveted sandwich earlier in the morning is in a ziplock bag, tucked in the fridge, only a quarter ate. All appeal lost and forgotten like my... Keep shut, Cara. I force my brain not to come up with a list of pitiful qualities that'll compare myself to two pieces of bread with sweetened salad and chunky beef slices in between them.

Right here in my room, since the usually closed door is open to let out the building heat, I can hear the faint sounds of shower-droplets hitting the tiles in the master bedroom, also known as the room I should be occupying with my husband but am not because he'd chosen to embarrass and treat me like I had no place by him that night.

Initially, I'd brought up the idea of moving out of our room at that moment solely because of the shame I'd felt at him rejecting my advances as if I were a paid sex-worker trying to reel in a man—Tony to be specific—who was totally uninterested in having sex with her. It'd hurt and disheartened me not only because it made me feel unwanted but also as it proved I had no effect on the very man who the very act of thinking of him could turn me into a horny fool.

Yes, I'd thought all hope was lost in regards to him being sexually attracted to me until less than a week ago. When he'd touched me while we both stood in the garage's driveway, I realised I'd been wrong to conclude him unaffected by his wife. However, I still could not be overjoyed at such a meagre victory. There was a bigger war at hand: a battle for his heart.

Currently, he is still on his habit of ignoring me. We acted like strangers in the morning when he left for work and continued the custom from the entrance to the house when we both arrived, as we'd received the chance to leave work early, him probably as he had little to do, and me, since the orientation was a mere three-hour event.

Anyway, it is not like I expected any different. I let out a woeful sigh before turning my attention to my fake nails. The almond-shaped nails all have a white base, but only my middle fingernail is the plain colour without any designs. The other four are bejewelled with fake gems and somber, gold glitter.

Lifting them to my face as if noticing their designs for the first time in my existence, I feel a familiar, destructive instinct kick in as I reach to peel off the pretty, glittering gems. It is tough to do so, considering that my right nails may pull off in the process, but I'm not ready to give up. I sit up in my bed, and after throwing the calendar back in its habitation, I channel my energy into ripping out the designs.

A sharp tap against the door's panel gives me a frightful startle. My visitor does not give me a chance to mutter any a word as he goes straight to the point he is to pass. "Today, my brother will be coming over to visit with his wife."