24
24
WEDDING NIGHT
I clicked on the TV. It wouldn’t bother her. She was so out of it a freaking freight train could come roaring through the room, and she wouldn’t know it.
Fucking Benzos?!
I picked up her wrist to check her pulse. It had slowed down some but not into the danger zone. Ordinarily, it was about seventy beats per minute. When I checked it, I noticed it ran a little faster. An autonomic response to me? She’s still afraid of me. I exhaled deeply.
We were very lucky I had the wherewithal to take away her alcohol tonight. I ran a hand through my hair. I could tell she was off right away. I thought she was just super anxious at first. Her face was stage-fright white. But then it never reanimated. To tell you the truth, I felt gypped. I thought she’d be the poster child for blushing bride. Had expected to see all of her emotions written on her face: embarrassment pinkening her skin, maybe a few tears sparkling her eyes, some tremors when she recited her vows. I got nothing but her stand-in, reciting her vows like the pledge of allegiance. I’d wanted her to experience it all—the perfect ceremony, reception, and wedding night. Instead, it’ll all likely be one big blur. It’s like that’s what she intended. I mindlessly flipped channels as I watched her chest rise and fall evenly.
All that trouble I went to, all the time and expense . . . down the drain. My chest burned with indignation. I should’ve known she was zoned out on something. Patel just informed me she asked for it the day before the wedding because she was anxious about her honeymoon. Apparently, just the mere thought of sex brought back memories of “The Incident.” I thumbed the remote off and tossed it onto the nightstand, a little too hard so that it clattered to the floor. She didn’t even stir.
I wasn’t sure if this was true or an excuse. I thought I’d broken through all her walls. I’d gotten her feet wet little by little, so that she’d be ready for tonight. I sighed. My wife was always full of surprises—not always good ones. But she’d been able to snap out of it at the end. That said a lot. If she was able to rally like that, then she couldn’t have OD.
I was pissed as hell at her. I mean pissed. As hell. Couldn’t believe she thought I’d really be into making it with her when she couldn’t even sit up. Couldn’t believe she couldn’t face her wedding night unless she was drugged up.
Did she prefer to have it go down that way? I hoped not because I wasn’t going to allow it. One glass, just to take the edge off. This was getting ridiculous. I hoped she didn’t have an addiction problem, like her father. I mean, I knew that it runs it families, but it just seemed so . . . lowbrow for the Kitty-Kat. Like she was too pure to be polluting her beautiful body that way. I’d likely kill her myself if she ever did it again. I tucked the covers around her more firmly.
That crack about her being “Academy intellectual property” bothered me. She clearly thought that was true. Couldn’t she tell? This lapse made me doubt her mad intuition a lot times. I thought I was doing a piss poor job of not getting attached, of keeping my distance, but maybe I was so good at hiding my true intentions that it had become second nature to me. You had to have a double-blind playbook to make it to the top here. I thought of all the strings I’d pulled for her, all the hoops I’d jumped through to make this happen, and she was so goddamned ungrateful. Pissed. As. Hell. I let out a huge sigh and stared out the window at the twinkling lights.
Maybe she really did know something? My thoughts circled back around. Maybe her intuition let her know I’d been screwing around? But then why didn’t she confront me? I couldn’t ask her about it, because then she’d ask me about it, and then I’d have to lie, and then she’d catch me in it. And then our marriage would be over before it even began. Even if she harbored a suspicion, she couldn’t know for sure. Unless someone informed her, which I highly doubted. Nobody would be that dumb . . . unless he was in love with her. Stewart? Maybe. I couldn’t see any of the girls talking.
While my wife slept the sleep of the innocent, I growled out some aggravation.
Something set her off. It started right at graduation night when she was staring so hard at me, I thought my guilt might’ve shown. I should’ve invited her back that night, but I’d just come in from fucking Laticia that morning and wanted to sweet talk Slater into coming back with me that night. Plus, it was getting really hard to stop wanting to run on home when my foot was on third.
I thought about tomorrow, and a smile lifted my lips and my mood. Our honeymoon. I was more than ready and had been waiting for six months. Hell, I’d been waiting for longer than that, if I was being honest. A record setting amount of blue balls had occurred. I was done with that. I resolved to put my anger aside, so we could have a better honeymoon than wedding.
A whole week of non-stop fucking my wife and fun in the sun. It would be paradise on earth. I honestly couldn’t wait. I brushed the hair back from her face. Felt for the pulse at her neck . . . it was holding steady.