Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

XVIII

He's struggling. Like I am. Maybe not as much, but still to a noticeable extent. This revelation is not one I'd have expected to be real. But staring at him a while ago, it became as obvious as daylight: the strain in our marriage is affecting not only me but also Tony as well.

Before he finally exited the room, I saw it. It was only a sliver, a tiny opening that should not have been enough but happened to be so. I caught a glimpse of a man whose world was pitch-black and had not yet discovered how to see the light. He was still wrapped up in chains of darkness that weren't letting go or giving in, and he had no clue how to break away.

The pain in his eyes was crude, intense, agonising. Even though I'd no clue of what was tormenting him, I could feel the searing anguish. Why did I think he was immune to suffering? How could I have focused only on my woes and wretchedness without noticing his? When did I become so selfish towards the only one who has owned my heart?

I am on the verge of beating myself up over my self-centredness when I realise that there is a truth I should have first given thought to. Indeed, I did not notice the pain that had its hot, searing tendrils embedding their snaky trails inside of him.

But it is only because Tony did not give me the chance to understand him or figure out the source of his pangs or whether he even had any. He'd secluded himself, baring fangs at me whenever I tried to get near. I can't take the blame this time as it is not my fault. I can only do so much.

It is so rightly ironic that he accuses me of hiding away from him when he is the one who's been living in a fortified, stone castle erected to keep out whoever might come by or trespass on its territory. I've done all that I can. Crept as close as I can. Travelled as far as I can. Therefore, it's not me who should go to him. He is the one who should come to me. I've been at his door, knocking and waiting for him to come out. Yet, he's not done the barest minimum of clearing open the barred gates. I cannot imagine what else he expects of me.

How inconsiderate of him. Isn't it too much of a harsh consideration to expect me to knock down his boulders and continue rushing to him when he's not made an attempt to take one step towards me? He's been emotionally distant, forcing me to restlessly pace around in the far corners he's let me occupy like a child missing her guardian in the middle of a bustling mall, without caring for my sorrow.

It's traumatic—doesn't he know?—the feeling of being abandoned; it's deadening as well. It throws me into dejection each time I ponder on it, each time he repeats the act because it is obvious that his actions are no sorts of fakery. And it hurts that I'm all alone without anyone to comfort me. No, the better and bitterer statement is I'm all alone without the one I thought would always be by my side making a single effort to comfort me. It's an unforgiving twist that he's here by me, yet farther away than ever.

Sagging onto the properly fitted bed like a lifeless sack, I shut my eyes tightly. The darkness underneath my eyelids is indeed more welcoming than the light I see when they are opened. I can't help but let it wash over me. Soon enough, the nothingness in my head shifts into the scene minutes ago, and I replay the haunted look in his eyes before he left me.

His inky irises deaden as an unfamiliar emotion I would never have associated with him swirls in them. They are gloomy, speaking of a familiar loneliness I've fought through since that day. In a flash, it is gone. The man I've married blinks, and through my mind's eye, I glimpse the disappearance of the intent that was initially so vivid.

What are you hiding, Tony? I question, wishing I had an answer. Even if Tony was here, I probably would not be able to gather the courage needed to ask him what it is that is hurting him so hellishly that he cannot tell a word of it. I would not ask my husband why he is in pain and keeps letting himself suffer alone. Because I know I'd never get an answer.