Chapter 8 #2
The house has been completely redone, because even I can tell it’s not a new construction.
Did Wraith do the work or did he pay someone?
No. I don’t even know him, but I can’t imagine him letting someone else do the work for him.
I imagine it was him who spent all the time doing every little painstaking detail in every single room, his big capable hands mapping out patterns, cutting and pasting until the entire thing came together like a much harder, much more wondrous adult version of arts and crafts time.
I wash my hair with Wraith’s spicy, woodsy scented shampoo and conditioner, then wrap a thick black towel around myself. It’s so big that it nearly goes around me twice. I step out of the shower and stare at my ruined dress. There isn’t any way I’m going to put that thing back on.
Instead, I open up the door and let out a rush of air at the neatly folded dark pile in front of it. I gather up the clothes and retreat inside. I unfold them carefully, my stomach coiled tight, my heart beating as fast as it has all day, so hard that it’s painful.
I feel like everything is jammed up in my throat. My stomach, my heart, my breath.
I pull on the plain black t-shirt, the cotton so soft that it nearly makes my skin feel rough.
It’s huge and I swim in it. I nearly laugh when I realize that it goes past my knees.
There’s a set of boxers there too, since Wraith didn’t rummage through my things and find any of my underwear.
I stare at them for a long time before I finally allow my shaking hands to unfold them and slide them on.
I have to roll the waistband a few times to get them to stay on my hips.
I stare at myself in the foggy mirror after, the steam from the shower still clinging wetly to the shiny oval surface since I forgot to turn on the fan.
My cheeks are flushed, my eyes huge and round, my lips swollen and parted.
I don’t look like myself at all, standing there in that black t-shirt, wearing a man’s boxers.
Boxers that, even if they’re clean, were worn by him.
My new husband.
It’s such a heady, wild thought, that I have to tear myself away from the sink and fumble with the door handle before I can spring it open.
I never thought that this marriage would amount to anything. Nothing more than two people forced into a terrible union, praying for the day they’d finally be able to get a divorce and go their separate ways without causing a fucking war between opposing forces that they have no control over.
I imagined us stuck in the middle and staying that way. Powerless. Unhappy. Unmoored.
Instead, I find myself creeping down the hall, to the last door on the right.
It opens up to a larger room with the same hardwood floors and light painted walls.
The furniture is newer, dark mahogany wood in a modern style.
A dresser with a large mirror, a taller dresser, two nightstands, and a queen-size bed with a sleek headboard and footboard.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t imagine it would look like this.
Just as I didn’t imagine that the man hovering around, inspecting the stack of boxes that he’s just placed into his room, would be anything like he is.
That when his eyes sweep to mine, they’d burn with something I don’t understand, something echoed deep in the bottom of my stomach, in my thighs, in my pulsing core.
I didn’t expect his doe eyed dog, or the tender way Wraith’s burning gaze sweeps from me to the animal nestled on the bed.
“I’ll make up the couch,” he says quickly, too quickly. He doesn’t look at me, and I’m thankful for the reprieve.
“N-no,” I stammer. I swallow hard, embarrassed at the shakiness of my voice.
“It’s your house. We can share. The bed…
that is…. Neither of us needs to take the couch.
” I know that’s totally inadequate and I need to let him know what he’s done for me, because he won’t understand otherwise, so I suck in a gulp of air.
“Thank you for everything. No one has ever stood up for me before. For making this feel like my home now, too.”
Those blazing dark eyes flick up to land on my face and I find myself writhing under his scrutiny. I clench my hands tightly at my sides, fisting them in the extra length of the t-shirt.
“This is your home now,” he says, his voice impossibly raspy and rough, like gravel, but there is an undeniable softness in the undertone. “Don’t worry. Abby will act like a big stretched out roadblock between us. I would never—”
“I know,” I assure him quickly, my face on fire. “I… you’re very kind. I trust you.”
He clears his throat roughly. “Kind is something that not many people accuse me of being.”
“Maybe that’s because they don’t really know you.” I duck my head when I realize how stupid that sounds, because I’ve known him for all of a few hours.
He doesn’t call me an idiot or make me feel that way though. Instead, he coughs roughly again. “Gonna take a shower too. Make yourself comfortable.”
I nod slowly and watch him retreat to the door, his big boots eating up the distance until he brushes past me as I dodge quickly out of the way. He pauses and this time, when he speaks, only a few feet behind me, his voice is rich and thick with humor.
“In the morning, let’s seriously burn these clothes. I’ve never had to wear something so uncomfortable in my entire fucking life.”
“Me too,” I whisper, but his big steps are already retreating down the hall.