Chapter Forty-Eight

There have been multiple times throughout our marriage that I had amused the idea of stabbing Inanis in the eyes with a spoon. Many times I've considered poisoning him. I've fondled each bloom of hatred I had for him, and nurtured them with more and more repulsion for the man, until my hatred became a plethora of emotions, all budding different reasonings as to why it would be a grand step forward for the country, if he simply ceased to exist.

The sheer stupidity of him and his absurd accusations against me this morning, really took the cake.

I glare at myself in the mirror as I was being measured for the dress I would be wearing for the president's execution. After Inanis practically accused me of being sexually disgusted by him simply due to his mental disorder, as if he really thinks that has anything to do with it, we haven't said a word to each other.

We rode in the car in silence. We were separated into two different dressing rooms, both of us being fitted for our own clothing, and then we will go home.

Against my own pride, my heart beats erratically in my chest at the thought of having to share a bed with him after the pure, unwarranted shit that came out of his mouth this morning.

He had always joked about finding me sexually attractive, and there isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't spit out some joke about me being naked. I never thought us not having sex really did bother him, he never really got angry about me turning him down. Normally he just grins at me like he already knew I'd reject him, or dramatically sighs, as if it was a burden he even bothered to ask.

I'm not stupid enough to believe he was faking his attraction to me while we made out in bed, but perhaps I'm not as smart as I thought, being that this whole time I never understood that maybe he was actually asking me for sex, and his way of doing so is by making a fucking joke out of it.

I want to punch him.

The fact that it did hurt his ego this much, and I didn't even realize, is as amusing as it pathetic.

After the women were finished taking my measurements, I sat in the lonely dressing room, waiting for Inanis to get done. The whole time I stewed in my own annoyance, and fear.

I didn't want to have to talk to him again. I didn't want to have to be face-to-face with him. Not because I didn't want to explain that his ADHD had nothing to do with my hatred for him (and that him slaughtering people for fame definitely was), but, in reality, I was afraid because I couldn't stop thinking about the moment I could tell him.

More than anything I wanted to grab him and kiss him, and smack him at the same time.

Nobody else has the power to make me this confused and frustrated. I'm not sure if I like the constant reflection of my own feelings, or genuinely desire a divorce.

There was a knock at the door, and I knew immediately that it wasn't Inanis, because Inanis does not knock. When I called out for whoever it was to come in, the door opened, and a very small, and thin young woman awkwardly saunters in. She wore a woman's professional pantsuit, but it was at least two sizes too big on her, and her hair looked messily put into a bun, as though she overslept this morning, and rushed to fix herself. Her cheeks were flushed like she was terrified and embarrassed to be in my dressing room, and yet I watched her force herself to stand straight, feigning the boldest form of confidence. "The Bone Cutter is waiting for you outside, ma'am."

I blink at her, "Why didn't he tell me himself?" I didn't mean to sound so angry, but I really was.

She was clearly not expecting my response, as she flustered over what to say. I felt bad for unintentionally putting her on the spot, and pulling her into me and Inanis's private drama. "Sorry." I say, standing up, "It doesn't matter. Thank you for telling me."

I watched her succumb to her relief as she nods, forces a smile, and walks out of the room.

Gathering what little I have left of my dignity, I exit the dressing room, and eventually see Inanis, waiting by the doors. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as a woman was talking to him. He seemed uninterested in her as he stared at his boots, and then the Persian rug beside the door. When I approached him, he looked up at me, his face entirely unreadable.

The woman talking to him noticed me as well, and gave me a polite smile. "I was just telling your husband your outfits should be finished within a few days. We are very honored to be making the attire for the head figures of our highly esteemed justice system, and I, myself, am wholly thrilled to create something that represents both of your power."

Rudely, but not surprising, Inanis ignores the poor woman, and moves out the door. I feel the need to thank her, as she was practically worshipping mine and Inanis's presence, and so I gave her a slight nod, and smiled, "I'm sure whatever you create will be phenomenal, and I'm excited to see your final product."

The light in her eyes brightened, and her teeth showed as she smiled, "Thank you so much. My girls and I will not let you down."

I take that as an opportunity to leave, and return outside, accompanied by several body guards, to the car, where Inanis is already waiting.

It's already getting dark, and I hadn't realized that we had been in the dressing rooms nearly all day.

Inanis, still, refuses to say a word to me. Feeling just as petty as him, I say nothing either, and keep my eyes locked out the window.

I hate the drama, almost as much as I currently hate him.

When we return home, after an hour long drive that was entirely pure, awkward torture, we entered the house, where Leech ran up to the both of us. He jumped up on my legs first, attempting to lick my hand. I couldn't stop myself from smiling at the sweet creature, as I patted his head, his tail wagging ferociously.

When Inanis walked in, he ran over to him, and I watched as he also attempted to jump up on his legs, but Inanis scooted him away with his boot. Leech refused the rejection as he again jumped up on his leg, and managed to lick his hand. Inanis grimaced, scooting the pup away yet again, muttering, "Fucking parasite." Under his breath as he shrugged off his coat.

I pitied the dog, aware that Leech had formed a special bond with Inanis the day he held him on the way home from the pet store. Even I knew Leech cared more for him than he did me, as he sees Inanis as the alpha of house, which was just devastating in every form of the word.

"Come here sweetheart." I say to him, as he runs up into my arms, and I kiss the top of his head. I shoot Inanis a glare, and he gives me a mocking wry look in return.

Shaking my head, I carry Leech up the stairs to the bedroom, where I can change, and hopefully sneak into the guest bedroom. My cowardice is overwhelming, and I don't want to share a bed with the man that I, in the most descriptive way I can muster, would entirely subject myself in sexual intimacy with, were I not set on solidifying his sour mood solely because I find him grandly narcissistic, and it bothers me he always gets what he wants.

The thought of having to explain to him that I also sometimes wonder what it'd be like to sleep together, makes my skin crawl, and so I will wait for him to come to me instead. Let him crawl in his own lust, and beg for something for once.

Me and my dog sneakily tiptoe to the guest bedroom after I grab a change of clothes. I open the guest bedroom and slip in, trying not to make a sound so as to not alert my husband into knowing that I am aoviding him. Shutting the door quietly, and I turn around and almost scream when I see Inanis, sitting on the bed, staring at the door, as if he were waiting for me.

Leech excitedly jumps up on the bed, and forces himself on Inanis lap, who pushes him off in one little shove.

The dog saunters back over to me and sits at my feet.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I breathe, my hand on my chest, my heart pounding against it. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I knew you'd avoid me." He leans back, his arrogance practically bleeding off of him, as he wallows into his own congratulations that he was, in fact, right. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "You're so predictable."

I frown, "I wouldn't avoid you had you not ignored me all fucking day. Why would I subject myself to a whole night of awkward silence? This is your own fault."

"That," He explains, "Is no excuse. You were just as silent today as I was."

"You started it!"

"And you complied, always going along with others, aren't you?"

I feel the irritation flare in my chest, "You're so unbelievably full of yourself. You must think you've done nothing wrong at all."

"Not entirely." He snaps matter-of-factly, "It seems marrying you was my first mistake."

"And not poising you the moment I got the chance was mine." I grit, "Go fuck yourself, Inanis."

I expect him to casually spit out a joke about me watching him do so, but there is no enlightenment in his gaze this time. He stands, his eyes so focused on mine, I feel uncomfortable. His voice is steady, and serious which is unusual, "Do you really hate me that much?"

That catches me off guard, and I falter for something to say, when I don't come up with something quickly, he continues. "Do you really want nothing to do with me?"

My instincts told me to say yes, but my instincts were also completely wrong. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"Why won't you answer?"

I press myself against the door, wishing I could run away as I ask, "Do you really regret marrying me?"

"No." He says immediately. "I don't."

Oh. I assumed he would dance around the question like I was. I didn't expect a solid response. It kind of made me feel guilty.

I blink at him. Everything I wanted to say felt trapped in my throat. I've never spoken kindly to him before. Neither of us spoke of our feelings like this, and it felt as foreign as it did uneasy.

"I, uhh, I don't-I don't know." I was panicking now. All annoyance transformed into pure confusion and resentment towards my own self.

I watch the serious look on his face falter to disappointment. "I see." He clears his throat, "I will not bother you to sleep in our bedroom anymore. Do as you please. I don't fucking care." He begins to leave the room, and my adrenaline kicks in. I know if I let him walk out, our relationship, friendship, marriage -whatever the hell this was, would be bruised for good.

He opens the door, and Leech runs out, but I am not even in control of my own body as I grab his arm, and pull him back into the room, slamming the door shut and pressing him against the door. I'm reminded of the night we were in this exact same position, the night he has pushed me against our bedroom door, and confessed he'd do whatever I asked of him.

The memory makes me dizzy, because I feel bad about it. He has been honest with me all these months, and I have taken complete advantage of him, without giving him the slightest bit of assurance that I feel something towards him too.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out, his eyes are wide as I push myself on him, forcing him against the door. "I don't know how else to say it, but I'm sorry, and I definitely don't hate you. At all." My God I need to shut up. "I can not let you leave this room without telling you that I also do not regret our marriage." I'm staring at his shirt, because I can't bring myself to look at him face-to-face. "I did at first, and I did hate you, but I don't anymore, so. . . there. Are you happy now?"

I dare to glance up at him, and he's staring at me with narrowed eyes, and I have no idea what he's thinking until he speaks up, "You must really think I'm brainless."

This shocks me, and I gawk at him. I crush down the fervent need to insult him, and simply say, "Excuse me?"

"I like your games, Mirea, but I'm tired of them tonight." He tries to push me away, "In fact, I don't think you're being honest, because you are a conniving, cruel, self-centered, bitch." He gives me a small, honest grin, "Just like me. We are so similar, it scares me."

"I am not a bitch."

"Ahh, but you aren't disagreeing that we are similar."

I back away from him, crossing my arms, "Shut up."

He immediately fills the gap between us, and gently leans in and kisses my cheek. It is such a soft movement, that I want to push myself into him, to have his arms around me, but I don't. I feel his breath on my skin as he says, "You are my rat, Mirea, I am your imprisonment, do not fool yourself by playing peacemaker."

I feel my heart, again, beating rapidly, "What if I was telling the truth?"

He muses the idea, "What if you were?"

I take the opportunity to reach up, and press my lips onto his. He wastes no time pulling me closer, as I grip the fabric of his shirt in my fist.

The kiss is at first soft, gentle, but it doesn't take long for both of us to desperately cling to each other. I push him onto the bed, and lift off my shirt. I climb onto his lap, letting him kiss my neck as I fondle with the buttons of his shirt.

He plays with them hem of my pants, I feel him unbuckle them and he pulls them down. I'm moving towards his, wanting every bit of clothing off of him. In moments my clothes are off, and I'm sitting on top of him completely naked. I feel no shame, only want, as I push myself against him, feeling his tongue on my neck, while he also moves his hands on my body, slowly, down from my breasts, nearer, nearer to my waist, my thighs, in-between.

He suddenly pushes me off him, and I'm laying on the bed as he crawls on top of me. His lips meet mine, and his hand plays around between my legs, there is no warning as he inserts a finger into me, and I gasp. The surprised look on my face makes his smile such a lovely smile, I've never seen him look so amused. I want to stare at him like this forever, the mischievous side of him dancing together with his own lust and delight.

I can feel his heartbeat raging against my own chest. It is hypnotizing.

His finger moves in and out of me, and I can not seem to control my breathing. He has no intention of stopping, and I have no intention of making him stop.

"Mirea," He says, his voice light and annoyingly gleeful, "You look alluringly exquisite when I'm able to control you like this. I am wholly obsessed with your image."

"You're not controlling me." I managed to breathe out, and I see a wicked look sweep over his face.

"Am I not?" He shoves another finger in me, and I bite my lip from gasping out. "Are you sure?"

Instead of telling him to fuck off like I usually do, I instead say, "Take your clothes off and let me try. I'm sure I could do better."

"No." He states simply, and I do in fact, lose complete control of my body I feel myself begin to climax, "I don't think so, love."

I suck in a breath, as my body tenses, and I could practically feel his laughter radiate off of him as my body gives in, and I am stuck in a euphoria he put me in.

I want to attack him for being just what he called me, a bitch, but I am breathless, and I can't stop just staring at him. His smile is wide, and he leans in and says to me, so intimately, "I think, this time, it is I who wins. Don't you agree?"