chapter nine.
cyn
Brix was right. His parents went into that guest bedroom, and I ain’t seen them since.
They were exhausted due to their travels, and those sandwiches put them right on to sleep.
I’m glad, too. It means I get a break from playing wife.
Pretending is hard work, especially while trying to convince my husband that I don’t love him anymore.
Of course it’s a lie. I’ll never not love Brix.
Can’t no man now or ever compare to him.
That’s why I haven’t even considered moving on after him.
For one, we’re still married, and – separated or not – I don’t play with unions ordained by God.
I wouldn’t dare entertain the thought of being with another man while I’m still married.
Two, I’m just not that kind of person, period.
Loyalty runs deep in everything I do. I’m even loyal to this little pretend scheme he cooked up, and though it’s extremely exhausting, I’m playing my part.
It's close to midnight. I’m still up because lying in this bed brings back so many memories that have filled my mind and heart with desires.
With longing. Brix knew how to satisfy all of that.
Then I remember how I used to sleep with his pillow in my arms in lieu of him, as if having my arms around a mound of cotton could ever replace his body.
I ached for him, but he wasn’t there. When I needed to feel his tongue in my mouth, I had to be content with my own.
When I needed to feel full with him embedded deep inside of me, I was left hollow and empty.
When I needed our hearts to be on the same page, we were in different books.
Those are the things I don’t miss – things that, to this day, still hurt me. I’m on the verge of tears when I hear him come inside the room. He releases a hearty exhale before he whispers, “Cyn, are you sleeping?”
I consider just pretending, but I’ve done enough of that for one day. I say, “No, I’m awake,” carefully making sure I hid any hint of sadness in my voice.
He clicks on his bedside lamp and says, “Okay. I wasn’t going to turn on the light and disturb you if you were sleeping already.”
“It’s all good. This is your house after all. You can do whatever you want.”
He takes a pillow off the bed and carries it over to the sofa.
I sit up and say, “Brix, don’t sleep over there.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. Just sleep in the bed. It’s not like we’ve never slept together.”
Ignoring me, he walks over to the closet, gets a blanket, and tosses it on the sofa. Then he comes close to the bed, clicks off his lamp, and says, “Goodnight, Cyn.”
He walks back over to the sofa.
“Boy…”
I push the covers off of me, stumble to the other side of the room, and straddle him. “Get up.”
“Ay, girl. Watch your knees.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re all balled up on the sofa. It doesn’t even look comfortable. You can’t even stretch out your long legs.”
“I could if you would get off of me.”
“Lies.” I tug at the blanket. He pulls it back. I pull it again.
“Seriously?” He looks agitated, but that doesn’t bother me in the least.
“Your legs will be hanging over the armrest. You’re too much for this little sofa. Get up. You can get in the bed with me.”
“No, I can’t.”
His stubbornness is maddening. I want to strangle some sense into him.
“Why not?” I ask, completely exasperated that he’s not doing what I want him to do.
He exhales heavily, releasing his frustration into the air. His breath smells like mint. It’s dark in the room. I can hardly see anything around me, but I can see his face clearly. His eyes. They look weary, yet I can see the love. The desire. The hopes and dreams of a second chance with us.
“Brix.”
“Yes?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll want you too much,” he finally answers.
His words arrest my heart and give me pause.
Like old, short videos of our past, instantly I see the picture of what we once were – what we could still be.
For a moment, I don’t say a word, and that’s because I can’t.
I’m shocked by his admission while at the same time knowing I shouldn’t be.
Though separated, we’re still linked. Emotionally.
Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. We said our vows with God as a witness.
That doesn’t go away because we can’t get along.
“Brix..”
The resolve I had when I first set foot in this house weakens.
Before I can think rationally, I lower my mouth to his, taking small, teasing kisses.
I didn’t realize how much I missed him until right now – the moment our lips touch and marry.
He closes his arms around me. I melt like butter under the heat of his caress.
I taste his lips more, enjoying this little intimate gesture between us.
It’s small, but it packs a punch when I know I want my marriage.
It feels good, but it hurts at the same time because he didn’t reciprocate that energy when we were together.
That’s why when I feel his tongue touch mine, it acts as a shockwave, jolting me back to my senses and pulling me back into the real world – into these very real circumstances.
Kissing won’t fix the misery I felt being alone.
Sex won’t replace the hurt of not being valued by the man who’s supposed to love and cherish me.
I wasn’t being cherished or loved. I was being forgotten.
“I’m sorry,” I say, moving off of him quickly with weak legs and heartbeats ravaging my chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“Let’s pretend that never happened. You’re right. You should sleep on the sofa. Goodnight, Brix.”
He doesn’t say a word.
I get back into bed and stuff a pillow between my legs to calm the ache, but it doesn’t work. I hide beneath the covers, wishing sleep would find me before I cave and give in to the deep desire I still harbor for my husband.
Just go to sleep, Cyn. Go to sleep.
I try to talk myself into a slumber, but it’s not working. It’s about to be a long night.