The bed is empty when I wake, panic grips me, I clutch the sheets hard enough to break a nail and my fingers scream in protest. Is he gone? My heart slows to a torturous beat and my hand stretches to touch Brandon’s side of the bed. It is still warm. I close my eyes and release my breath. He is here. He didn’t leave me again. But what if he has?

Streaks of sunlight filter into the room from the cracks in the curtain, casting a soft glow on the floor. I sit up slowly, the duvet rolls to my waist and a hand goes over my mouth to stifle my yawn. My eyes scan the room for him, hoping for his return or any sign he is still at home. Is he mad at me for last night stunt? He can’t be. I should be the one upset.

Shyness creeps up on me when I notice the full state of my undress, I pick my gown that had been folded at the foot of the bed. Embarrassment rattles my insides at the sight of my underwear which falls out of the pile, I don’t put them on as I amble to the bathroom to brush my teeth. No, I am not looking for Brandon. Maybe I am. Maybe not. Whatever.

Disappointed to meet the bathroom empty, I finish up my business and hurry back into the room and scream. We need to talk. About a lot of things, starting from his haircut.

Tears rush to my eyes, I swipe at them. I love his brown hair as much as he loves my curls, he had no right to cut them off without seeking my opinion. I will never cut my hair knowing how much he enjoys weaving his fingers through them. Stupid me, I am always thinking about how to make him happy and he turns around to shave his head.

Brandon saunters in through the open door, fumbling with the tie of his dark green suit and my breath seizes. Physically, he is perfect. His height, physique, everything I can ask for in a man. God took time to create him but forgot to give him a heart. His steps falter when he senses my presence, our eyes meet and I turn away to take deep, calming breaths.

I hate his new look, it reminds me of soldiers on buzz cut returning from a deadly mission. In a way, Brandon is like them, he is a different man from the one who walked out on me. He has returned from his mission, a changed man. But is the change good?

The subtle air of cruelty always hovering above him has been tamed. By who? Did things end well for him in Paris? Curiosity has my lips parting, I clear my throat and grimace when he lifts a brow in question. His face is still set in a perpetual mask of indifference but the new haircut creates an illusion of kindness that might fool outsiders, not me.

He abandons his tie and straightens up, I lick my lips. Without much effort, he steals the show, the same way he stole my poor heart. His plump lips curve into an unsure smile when my gaze returns to his face, breaking me from my trance and I cover the distance between us. He is still my husband, the best I can do is treat him with familiarity.

Awkwardness befriends us as I stand before him, wringing my fingers without a clue on how to start a discussion. Yes, I have a lot to say but I can’t seem to find the words now I need them. I look at him, his hot, masculine scent draws me in, I missed it so bad I find myself subconsciously leaning into him. Why can’t we be a normal couple? Why can’t he love me? Why can’t he be kinder, more forgiving? Why? I’m not asking for too much.

My lips part open but he beats me to it and I nod. “Good morning. How was your night?”

Following the events of last night, how we ended up on different sides of the bed, I am unsure if that is a trick question. I peer at him through my thick lashes, his hawk-like gaze narrows, set intently on my pouted lips and I rub my clammy palms on my hips.

“Fine,” I say. My breath catches in my throat, my tongue darts out to wet my lips and my legs draw circles on the floor. He needs to stop staring at me like I am his favourite item on the menu, it is doing us no good. “How was your night?” I cough. “You slept well?”

Of all the things we can discuss, it has to be this. His eyes rake over me shamelessly, my nipples harden under his scrutiny, straining against my gown and I clear my throat. The visible bulge in the front of his trouser catches my attention, I tear my eyes away from it to look down at my fluffy slippers. Sex is his way of solving problems, I don’t want that.

“No, I didn’t.”

On instinct, my head raises but I don’t ask what the issue is and he shoves his hands into his pocket. My fingers itch to run along the sleeves of his suit, to know if the material feels as good as it looks. I have never seen him in this colour of suit and he is pulling it off effortlessly. My chest tightens when my wandering eyes return from his brown brogues to his face and eventually his hair or lack of it. I sigh, it hurts to look at him.

“Are you okay?” Brandon asks. Another trick question that has me smoothening my gown for imaginary creases. I nod. “Elna.” His hand reaches for my face but he doesn’t touch me and I bite my lips, I need some of his self-control. “I saw the post.” Before I can ask what post, he volunteers an answer and I shrug. “You are not a gold digger, Elna.”

Hearing Brandon say this causes a mirthless laugh to escape me. A surge of pain rushes into my heart, I want to remind him of a few of his last words to me: you are just like everyone else, only about hurting me, what you can gain from me. They still sting, they always will. Those words describe who this man suddenly claims I am not. I shake my head, it doesn’t matter what all of them say, it only matters what I think about myself.

A soft sigh escapes me when he smiles. It is hard to remember what I think of me on some days. Sometimes, it is harder to remember only what I think about myself matters.

“Are you the reason they pulled down the article?” He scratches the back of his head, I almost giggle at his shyness when he looks away after nodding in reply. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t sleep with any of my dates,” Brandon starts in a whisper. Why did he have to go on so many? One or two might have been fine, made it easier to stop thinking he left his wife here to go on dates with other women. “Not even a kiss, it was strictly business.”

Relief flashes through me. “Good for you.”

There are other important things to discuss like his prolonged silence. We are acting immature, refusing to hit the nail on the head. I shiver, running my palms up and down my upper arms, he sighs. We can’t go round in circles forever, I don’t want to hurt again.

“How was your flight? Paris?” I ask, taking control of the tie he didn’t knot right. He looks unsure, I manage a smile. “Were you able to achieve the goals you set out for?”

The question takes both of us by surprise, I manage to hide my shock at the amount of concern laced in my voice. I shouldn’t care but I guess if you love someone, no matter how much loving them hurts, you will always want the best for them. To know how they are faring, the same thing I sought from him during those thirty days he was away.

His eyes scan my face, I shrug. “It was fine.” I nod, his hands reach for my waist but one deadly glare from me stops his movement. He found me—my touch repulsive before he left, that shouldn’t change now. “Everything went according to plan. Thanks for asking.”

On a different day, I might have giggled at the uncertainty which seeped into his voice. Maybe something on my face evoked that reaction out of him but my short visit to the bathroom earlier showed same old me with my messy hair, brown eyes and dark skin.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” I say, trying and failing to put on a genuine smile. Smoothening his tie, I let my eyes linger on his face, I will always love him. “Have a nice day at work.”

The silence runs for a painful second longer when he remains unmoving, his lips pull into a thin line and I have to stop my heart from jumping out of my mouth. We stare at each other, I take a step back. What if he’s leaving me again? For real this time. I haven’t forgiven him, I don’t think I can but his presence comforts me. I need him here with me.

“You are not going to work?”

“I am.”

My eyes wander to the top of his head, I nod and my shoulders deflate. If the media didn’t make his new look the subject of their next gossip column, then he must have gotten it of recent or stayed indoors until his return. I am not sure if my anger is due to how short he cut it, so close to his scalp. Or the fact he didn’t care about me enough to ask. There is nothing for me to play with when we talk, kiss, make out or have sex.

Nothing.

“I have a few minutes to spare,” he says. It feels like I am talking to another person but with Brandon’s features. “Do you want us to talk?” I shake my head, I have a class but I don’t tell him that. “Okay. I didn’t see your car downstairs.” I nod. “Where’s your car?”

“Clarissa, I gave it to her.”

Brandon’s crestfallen expression should have cajoled me into adding the missing details like I only let her have it for a few days. I have been indoors, she goes to work, so she needs it more than I do. But the thinly veiled hurt in his eyes gladdens me. I hope it hurts as much as it did when he returned his ring, the symbol of our wedding and my necklace.

Seeing him make to turn around has me saying, “Sophia was here yesterday.” I don’t know why I need to be around him for a few moments longer. “She was in your office.”

“I know, I sent her. I needed to get something important.” The disappointment and hurt must have shown on my face, he bridges the gap between us, tries to caress my cheek. I shake my head, he has a wife at home but he will rather ask an outsider’s help. “I tried to call you. I have been doing that for days but I keep getting the same responses.”

Knowing he tried to contact me causes calm to wash over me and my insides quiver with joy. My eyebrows shoot up to mask my inner jubilation, he lets out a resigned sigh.

“Elna, what happened to your phone?”

“Nothing.” My hand sweeps across the room, to wherever I think it might be, I barely use it these days. Either Clarissa is calling to check up on me or Josh is bugging me with his pleas. Squaring my shoulders to deliver the good news to him, I say, “I blocked you.”

He nods. “I deserve that.” He deserves worse than that. “But I am home now, wife.” I scoff, a smile tugs on the corners of his lips. He continues, “Will you please unblock me?”

Wife? The audacity of him to act all cool. If that is his best card, it won’t cut it, he has to do more. I shake my head. His sudden presence doesn’t take away my days of hurt.

Brandon runs his fingers through his scalp, my heart clenches. Such a simple action, yet it hurts so much to watch him. To know my opinions don’t count. I don’t matter to him.

“Okay.” He nods, caressing my cheek and I flinch. His smile falls. “Okay, I overreacted.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I arch my brows and wince internally at the slight contact with my nipples. They hurt. His eyes lower to my chest, setting my body on fire with need and I bite the insides of my lips, willing myself to stay strong. Being away from him this long, I want to jump his bones, practise what I learned but I have to stay the course. He can’t keep getting away with hurting me. I am human too. I have feelings.

“I want that back,” he starts. Confused, my eyes fleet to his face, searching for an answer. His fingers brush my collarbone, he twirls his ring which I have gotten used to wearing. “This.” He pauses, I gulp. No. Without breaking eye contact, he says, “I need it back.”

Anger stirs within me, I slap his hand, raise my chin in defiance. My hand closes over the half-heart pendant and the ring, hell will freeze before I return them to him. His gaze narrows as if he can tell what I am thinking, our eyes silently communicate, he starts shaking his head and I put on my invisible cloak of strength. He is never getting them.

“No.” I try to remain calm amid the furious clenching of his jaw. “I’m not giving it back.”

“El, I overreacted, okay?” I have a lot of things to say to that but I keep mute. “Elna.”

Speaking to him in this state will only lead to us hurting each other with our words, one of his many professional skills and I don’t want to experience that feeling of heartbreak anytime soon. Brandon’s fingers relocate to his scalp, he growls at my stubbornness and my teeth sink into my lower lip to stop the violent thoughts threatening to consume me.

Through gritted teeth, I say, “Stop touching your bloody fucking scalp.” It is his body and he can do as he wishes with it but I don’t care, it is evidence I don’t mean enough to him. His head bobs, he tries to pull me in for a hug. I scream, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Throwing his hands up in surrender, his eyes beg me to understand but I can’t. I refuse to. “I didn’t know my hair meant this much to you, El. You never said anything about it.”

His tone comes off as accusatory, I lose my train of thoughts and stare at him with my mouth wide open. I blink twice, his words come rushing back to me and I snap.

“Because you don’t communicate. How the hell was I supposed to know you wanted a haircut, huh?” I poke his chest, he staggers. “Tell me, dear husband.” Venom laces my voice, I take in a deep breath and my eyes raise to meet his wavering gaze. I need him to see me, to know how much his actions hurt. “Couples take important decisions together but that can never be you. If I don’t force the problem out of you, you won’t talk. Why?”

Pity, possibly, remorse fills his eyes but I raise a hand and shake my head to stop him from talking. He had his chance, I don’t want to hear one more stupid word he has to say. After all, he has nothing new to add. We have all been hurt in the past. As teenagers, we did stupid things at some point but I don’t use that as an excuse to treat him like shit.

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

His shoulders slump, he fights back a sad smile as he steps back. “That’s not true-“

“It is,” I scream. “It is. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, it will never be good enough for you.” Tears sting my eyes, I swallow the lump in my throat, barely seeing him through my tears. I love this man but no more. “Communication is key but God forbid the high and mighty Brandon does that. No, he will rather push anyone who cares away.”

Using the back of my hand to wipe my wet cheeks, I blink back my tears. “I didn’t ask for this marriage, you wanted this. Now, I love you and by God, you will treat me right.”

Tears run down my cheek, I sniff and swipe at my nose. My heart tightens, it hurts. It is his fault, I am like this because of him. Brandon stays rooted to the spot, staring at me with hurt marring his handsome face. His brows crease almost to the point of forming a unibrow, he tries to interject but I am not done. I have a lot more to say to him. Things we should have established from the start. I can’t keep up with this charade any longer.

“For someone who is the CEO of one of the largest companies in England, you act dumb sometimes. Real dumb.” My teary eyes blaze with anger. “How do you communicate with your staff? You force them to read your mind or threaten to fire them if they don’t get your unspoken request?” Letting my lips curl into a bitter smile, I shake my head. “I didn’t say anything?” I scoff, my fingers dig into my hair, sinking into my scalp. “Did you hear yourself?” He takes another step back, I tsk. “Stupid. You are so stupid sometimes.”

There are a lot of things I expect him to say but he murmurs, “I understand your anger but do not disrespect me.” That’s all it takes for me to lose it. For me to completely blow up.

“You do not understand anything,” I scream in his face and he jerks back at my reaction. I sigh, taking a few seconds to keep my emotions in check, shouting won’t solve the issue. “I give you all I am, my body and soul and all I get in return is hurt and more hurt.”

Silence threatens to suffocate us as we stare at each other, if I was taller, I would smack sense into his thick skull. Brandon lets out a sigh, his pinched expression and slumped shoulders say he’s hurting but I am hurting too, more than he can ever imagine.

“Disrespect you?” I ask no one in particular, letting out a small laugh. “You disrespected me first. You walked out on me, our marriage without a backward glance.” He tries to reach for me and my hands jam together in mock delight. I eye him from head to toe with disdain and smack my lips knowing how much he loathes it. Right now, he doesn’t appeal to me. I hate him. “What do you know about disrespect? If telling you the truth equals me disrespecting you, then I will keep doing that until you get the point.”

“Elna.”

“Stop calling my name. Don’t call my name.”

My chest heaves, my ears ring from the force of my words and I try to catch my breath, I can’t let him ruin my mood. I will go into school, meet better, happier people, he can’t take that from me. I look up to him, half-expecting him to say something but he doesn’t.

His face is red from trying to hold back his outburst, I smile. Even now, he still feels the need to hide his emotions from me. Time and time, over and over again, I have to beg this man to show me a glimpse of his pain, his joys and sufferings, every bit of him.

But no more.

“You do not deserve the ring,” I say in a calmer voice and smile. “You walked away.”

He throws his hands to the side like he’s about to be crucified. “Because you let my brother kiss you.”

A pin-drop silence ensues, my lips curl into a smile.

One month later and he is still holding on to that, the reason for our fall out. My heart flutters, tears line my eye as I scan his face as if to commit it to memory. He shoves his hands into his pocket, I sigh. Some people will never change. Brandon will never change.

In one swift move, I yank the necklace and launch it across the room. To hell with him. This marriage.

“El.” I hear his footsteps but my heart hurts too much for me to move or speak. “Elna.”

Turning my back to him, I fold my hands under my breasts and whisper, “Go. Go to work.”