Chapter Twenty-eight
Rain and Hazel
Today, six years ago, was the worst day of my life. The day I lost everything and realized that love is as ordinary as it sounds. That planning forever with a human is laughable, and that putting your trust on a mortal soul is foolishness.
I sit at the bar, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass that is filled with stiff whiskey because the stupid people decided to not stock up with vodka. The hum of conversations, coupled with the low music that sounds around the walls form a background music to my thoughts. Despite the way I try to deny it every time, I know deep down in my heart that I’m still deep in the deep shackles of what happened six years ago.The weight of the loss presses heavily against my chest and just like every year, I seek peace in the cold embrace of alcohol, which is how I end up here in this cheap ass bar to drink my life away.
The bartender pours me another glass without a word, although he looks like he has something to say as to why I have been here since seven, but one cold look from me stops him.
I lift the glass, the ice cubes clinking together as I take a sip. The whiskey burns its way down my throat, and I take more, despite the knowledge that a few more glasses is certain to get me drunk beyond repair soon.
My mind wanders to how I missed all the signs staring at me that fateful year. No matter how hard I try to forget, I just end up remembering more. I lost not just the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, but also a part of me (literally). The betrayal and deceit sting me every single time.
The scent of the bar—wood, different smells of alcohol, leather and even cigarettes—invades my nose, and I fight a retching whenever someone passes by my side. I glance around the bar, wondering if the strangers around the tables also have storms raging within them.
The clinking glasses and laughter increase, pulling me out of my memory here and there.
“Hey.” My head lifts at the familiar voice and I see Renzo standing in front of me.
I ignore him and shake my glass to take another sip. “How did you even find me?”
“It’s time to go home, buddy. Angela called me. Your wife is very worried.”
My glass stops halfway to my lips.
My wife.
I raise my watch to check the time and wince when the time shows me that it’s fourteen minutes past twelve. I drop my glass with a hundred dollar tip and leave the bar with my brother.
“Rain.” Angela’s relieved face greets me after three rings on the doorbell. “You came home.”
“Yes. That was why you called Renzo, wasn’t it?” I stagger a little.
“You promised your mother and I not to repeat it.” I do that every year. “Should I make you something? Are you very drunk? An orange juice would work magic.”
“I’m fine.” I kick my shoe off and walk barefoot into my room, ignoring Angela who stutters some words in German.
I fall on my bed with a loud groan. Ouch, maybe falling suddenly on the bed isn’t a good idea.
My eyes stick to the door in front of me, The one connecting Hazel and I. If I go in there, she’ll hold me, right? She seems like a nice person, or is it just an act?
If I don’t try, I won’t know.
I search for the keys, unlock it quickly and drop a knock on the door.
Hazel
I jolt up in surprise. Who is that? Did Rain come home eventually?
I yawn, rub my eyes, and get off the bed to open for whoever is there. My feet take me toward the actual door leading to the hallway, but another knock echoes through the silence, turning my attention sideways. The knock is coming from the door connecting my room with Rain’s.
Um?
With careful steps, I make my way to the door and take a deep breath, knowing it can only be Rain who is knocking on it.
A gasp tears out when he’s revealed.
What happened to him?
His usual suit is gone, leaving him on a white undershirt. His tie is slack, and his usual composed demeanor is all shattered. The scent of alcohol clings to him and he peers at me from his heavy-looking eyelids.
“Can I sleep with you?” His voice is a hushed whisper that catches me off guard, but he seems to not care about what he just asked, as he sways slightly on his feet.
My mind races, misinterpreting his request with a tinge of disbelief. I widen my eyes at him and my ovaries shake. Is he trying to play with me?
I think Rain also sees the look on my face, because his face creases and he proceeds to properly explain what he means. “Not like that.” Weariness enters his voice and exhaustion etches across his face.
My cheeks heat up and I consider moving to space or somewhere I’d never be seen again. Maybe it’s finally time for me to get laid. I can’t take this tension anymore. It’s killing me.
“I just don’t want to be alone tonight. I want to sleep here with you.”
I’m caught off by the vulnerability in his voice, but my suspicion still lingers. He can be playing with me. “You want to sleep here with me?”
He nods, appearing too weak to explain himself further. Hesitantly, I step aside for him to enter. He collapses onto my bed and I clutch the sides of my nightwear with the soft balls my hands are now rolled in. Contemplating and finally deciding, I move to him and unbutton his shirt. He doesn’t stop me, though his eyes are openly staring at the ceiling. I peel the shirt off him and allow him to rest comfortably on the bed.
“I’m going to sleep on the couch, okay?” No reply from him. I give a small sigh and walk to the couch in my room with a blanket and a pillow with me.
I lay quietly on the couch, my heart racing like crazy at the thought of the man sleeping on my bed just some steps away from me. Too many things are happening that I can’t process. First, my mentor replied to my email out of the blue, then I found out that there’s a big possibility that my cold as ice husband sent the email for me, and now the said husband is here, seeking me—or my room—for peace.
I study his face which is highlighted softly by the dim candlelight. His eyes are still open, but his features look so tense even from here. What happened?
Earlier, Angela said he wouldn’t come home because it’s August twelve, but now here he is, looking dejected. What does that day mean to him?
“Are you sleeping?” I stop all movements, including my breathing when I hear Rain ask.
“Yes,” I whisper into the night. Again, he says nothing else after that, and the room remains silent.
Some minutes later, he speaks again, “ Principessa. ” My stomach dips. He had called me that as an insult on the day of his sudden business trip, now he won’t stop.
I shouldn’t reply to him. I should pretend to sleep, and tomorrow, we can go back to avoiding each other. But a conversation with Rain happens once in a while, so I should take every opportunity I can.
“Hm?”
“Come here. Come and hold me.”
Well shit. How am I supposed to say no to that? Not when he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. I take a few minutes to gather myself before I walk back to the bed with the blanket and pillow. After setting it up, I lay like a dead woman beside him, careful not to make the first move. He did tell me to come hold him, but he didn’t say where he wanted me to hold him.
Confidently, Rain makes the first move. He scoots to me, wraps his hand around my waist and rests his head on the small of my chest. I’m too shocked to do anything, so I just lay there with wide eyes and a motionless heart.
He shakes me once. “Breathe.” And I do. My heart speeds up and I think I’ll have an arrest soon. “If it makes you feel better, my heart is beating fast too.” Rain, stop talking. Please.
“Why did you drink so much whiskey?”
“They had no vodka,” he replies matter-of-factly, and I bite back a laugh.
“You know what I mean.”
“I drink on this day every year.”
“Why?”
“Have you ever been in love? How was it for you?” he asks instead.
I can’t even tell any longer. I thought I knew myself before all this–before the detention, before Rain. But now, I’m not sure anymore. I don’t know if I should call what I had with Kemar love, but I don’t want to disregard the feeling I had for him either.
“Tell me what yours was like, and I’ll tell you mine.”
I wait for his reply to my negotiation, but as time goes by, I get none. I check slightly to see that he has already shut his eyes, surrendering to the slumber. An exhale falls out of my mouth at the realization that the answers will have to wait.
I rake my hand through his hair, but the cold bite of his hand around my waist makes me stop. After a while, I try again. Soon, his tightened hand lessens and his facial muscles relax. His sleep is so peaceful, a stark contrast to the man who usually exudes power and control. The tension in the room fades and is replaced by a sense of responsibility.
I continue to ponder the mystery surrounding my enigma of a husband who, for a brief moment, showed me vulnerability that I, most likely, will never see again.