twenty-nine #2
She shrugged. “I will handle the rest. I have a feeling their fighting right now is less about a sense of crushed vows and more… complex.”
Such an explanation would have to do.
The broadcast focused on the regional cuisine of a local Cachayan restaurant and bakery that served locals and tourists alike.
Yet it was a group of Federation Forces giving their thumbs up to the camera that asked them how they liked the spicy food infused with citrus and boar.
As the cameraman zoomed in and out to the tune of clapping and praise for the chef, Sulim wadded up a piece of paper from her nightstand and chucked it at the back of her husband’s head.
Sonall, who had been sitting on the couch at the end of the bed, snatched the paper and slung it back at her. What ensued was another round of childish fighting, expressed through grunting and sneering and very few words.
It ended when Sulim couldn’t throw the paper far enough any longer, and the spherical mound landed on the floor between them.
This is so stupid. Her anger was stupid.
Her reaction to everything was stupid. His likewise critical demeanor was stupid.
So many hurtful words splashed between them once they were back here, as if a giant scab had been ripped open and they were bleeding all of the unfulfilled promises and bottled-up resentments between them.
He knew. Once Sulim showed a shred of anger at his own affair, he flung back in her face that he had long suspected something was going on between her and Mira.
I didn’t deny it. If anything, she reveled in it, telling him that he had a chance to talk about it with her but had walked away.
Oh, but he retorted, what right did she have to be angry at him for finding some physical love elsewhere?
If she was getting some, shouldn’t he be allowed?
Besides the point. She knew that he knew that this wasn’t about outcomes and was all about how they got there—lies, deceit, and denying their feelings.
Now they stewed like rotten cores in a bitter apple porridge. They also knew that they could not leave this room, because the whole house had heard their fighting and must have known what had happened. With Sulim as guilty, what could they do? Face it while still angry?
Yeah, right.
So, here they were. Sulim, on the bed, feet rocking back and forth as she sat like a petulant child. Sonall, on the couch, pretending to watch a broadcast as if this was what he usually did in the evening. Their only saving grace was that none of the other family was home.
But since they weren’t talking, that meant Sulim was thinking. Her brain hadn’t gone so fast since the day of the Cerilynian attack on Yarensport.
Kema. Really? Sulim still couldn’t quite believe it.
While Kema was perfectly fine and fetching to look at—she was related to Mira, after all, and Sulim had yet to see a Lerenan who wasn’t beautiful—the bulk of her personality had been serving Lady Joiya as a lady-in-waiting and minding Hannu’s temperament.
Sulim rarely had a one-on-one conversation with her the whole time the pilgrims had been in her house, and most of them were about routines, expectations, and answering questions.
Since Sulim’s knowledge of hybrids mostly came from Mira, she didn’t assume anything about Kema’s personality.
Apparently, she’s fine with being a homewrecker. Just like Mira. Just like the two people in that bedroom. What had Sonall told her? Why didn’t he tell his wife about any of this, considering they got married with the expectation of opening things up at one point?
That was the crux of the issue—well, interpolated with embarrassment, sure. Sulim had made it clear she was ready to shift their marriage around a bit, but he held out. Only to do this?
She hoped he could feel her eyes drilling holes in the back of his head.
Eventually, he flipped through channels while she got up and went into the bathroom.
There, she left the door ajar, but only because she didn’t have the strength to ensure it closed all the way.
Sulim stood in front of her mirror, ignoring the mix of their hygiene products interspersed with references to equine aesthetics, because she had always been too cowardly to put too much of her own stamp on her own bathroom.
What would Jacelah think? That was usually what Sulim fretted over.
A part of her wasn’t so different from Sonall, after all—she was as worried as him about what his family would think if they took too much control into their own hands.
As everyone so helpfully pointed out, it had been a mistake to let Sonall marry Sulim.
Even she saw that now.
She went back into the bedroom, manually turning off the broadcast so he was forced to acknowledge her. Sonall said nothing. He didn’t even ask what she was doing.
“Mira’s offered to take me with her when they leave. You all can be rid of me, and you can start over again. Get yourself a better wife who will actually, I dunno, wanna be your wife.”
He stared at her. Usually, he was the easiest man in the universe for her to read, but right now?
Either Sulim’s mind was cluttered with too much stress, or Sonall had finally learned how to create an inscrutable poker face.
Because those harsh, furrowed brows and the bright, desperate blue of his eyes contrasted with the hopeful turn of his mouth and the fear now gripping his entire mien.
“Really that easy, huh?”
Something about his husky tone tore right through her. Unable to keep up the tough-bitch fa?ade any longer, Sulim crossed in front of him and sat on the couch, careful not to touch him. Now was not the time for friendly reassurances. Friendship was entirely on hold.
“No,” Sulim admitted. “There’s a reason I hadn’t yet said yes.”
As she humbled herself on her side of the couch, he likewise softened, aging another five years as he hid his face in one of his hands.
“I’m sorry.”
She slightly turned her head. “What?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“No, I heard you… I mean, sorry for what, exactly?”
“Fuck if I know.” Both hands slapped in his lap as he flung himself into the corner, as if to get away from her and whatever judgments his wife espoused.
“Sorry for not being the man you need me to be, I guess. Sorry for being weak. Sorry for not listening when you said things were changing between us, and we should get ahead of our oncoming misery.”
“What misery? Do you think I’ve been miserable here?”
“No, not like that. I mean… me. Maybe I was getting a bit miserable.”
Sulim sighed. “You deserve someone who wants you as a husband. Me? I don’t think I was really cut out for it, but… I’ve found my own way here.”
“Why did you marry me?” His head rolled against the back of the couch, tired gaze searching her likewise weary face for answers.
“It wasn’t passion, and it wasn’t for my family’s money. You’re not a gold-digger. If anything, you’re too damn good for this place. My parents don’t treat you with the respect you deserve for all you do and all the shit you take.”
She didn’t have it in her to shrug or to even match his exhausted stance.
“You hold me up on a pedestal. Like any woman, I weighed my options, and marrying you was my best chance to escape an unkind life back on Qahrain. Even if I had gone to a university… there were no guarantees. You and your family were a guarantee. I had lost everyone before your proposal. My parents,
even my adoptive family… they never cared for me like I probably needed. I could handle more of it here from your parents. And the drudgery… it was worth it, in exchange for eventual rights.”
“Really that simple, huh?”
“I had just lost Eyne, you know. And while I don’t think we would have lasted, I realized how precarious that kind of thing is. I needed to leave Qahrain. You gave me an easy out.”
“Suppose I was a bit… pathetic.”
“You had also been through a lot. If anything, we could relate to each other about that.”
“No, I fooled myself into thinking you could love me the way I wanted. I thought… well, if you came here, and we settled in… never mind. Saying it out loud proves how stupid it was.”
Finally, Sulim collapsed forward, peering through her fingers at the empty television screen. “Do you not think I tried to fool myself, too? That I would get used to it? That I would somehow earn the respect of your parents in record time and get to do what I wanted?”
“I’m sorry.”
No matter how many times he said that, it didn’t change the fact that they had fucked each other over, and not privately. We had a plan. A plan that went haywire as soon as six julah from Yahzen arrived.
“I do love you, you know,” Sulim said. “I can’t imagine my life if we had never met. And I’ve never lied to you about how I feel or what I expect. I just… I’m not the right woman to be married to any man. Even if I don’t care about the sex, I just don’t feel for men the way I do for women.
I wish I were built differently, but I’m not. The Void made me like this, I guess.”
“And I wish I didn’t care about any of that. But I do. So here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“You went for someone who gave you the kind of thrill you’re seeking. And I went for someone who… paid attention to me, I guess. Fuck! I need to stop sounding so pathetic.”
“You don’t sound pathetic,” Sulim said. “You sound frustrated. So am I. I asked for us to talk about opening this marriage a while ago.”
“Before or after you started your affair?”
Sulim winced. That was the only answer he needed.
“Tell me about her,” she eventually said. “I think you know more about Mira than I do about…” She struggled to say the name. In the end, Sulim was still a wife who had walked in on her husband with another woman. Regardless of her true feelings, there was shock. “Her.”
Sonall was not wont to tell her everything, and she didn’t blame him.
If anything, her curiosity stemmed from wondering if there was something serious between them, or if Kema had been a convenient fling for a sexually frustrated man.
How easily did you two seduce each other?
There was a part of her that needed to know that she held out against Mira longer than her husband toward his own affair partner.