A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 31 | basically two confrontation

Drawing never-ending but shabby patterns on the contours of my skin, warm droplets of water made their way down my spine, spewing from the handheld shower and detaching my tensed nerves from all the uneasy introspection which racked my brain throughout the previous night.

It was strange to think of my husband as a shield when his personality conflicted with the norms of normal people.

Not only did his actions approve of hypocrisy but his being was selfish and brainwashed by his worthless ego.

Pride in his suits, he walked around spreading his dominance on helpless women.

Everything related to Dwain boiled down to benefiting him in one way or the other. . . helping a stranger and stealing a free one-night stand with a drunk lady.

That was so unprofessional of him.

Ditching his fiancee for a girl whom he later married for a contract and revenge.

Interestingly, he used a single stone and shot two birds.

Stopping the shower and wincing as my bare feet clung to the smooth tiles, I stretched my hand and fumbled with the clean sets of towels that were stocked in one corner.

Tucking a towel around my chest, my free hand squeezed leftover water out of my hair.

It was ridiculous to find people like him on our planet. . . this devil was an alien who needed to be exiled to Mars and banned from the face of the earth.

Elizabeth suffered because of love.

Love was a tyrant when she ruled and a puff of smoke when her prey was hurt.

It was comedic to fall in love and to collapse in the arms of dependence, bonded to a stranger like a lifeline who later cheats and throws his dirty linings to its victim's face.

Independent women were successful, they didn't need men to make them feel accomplished.

Releasing a shaking breath out of my lungs, I pushed past the sliding door and stepped out of the bathroom.

Dwain wasn't in the room, nor did his files rest on the coffee table; he must have gone downstairs.

Funny enough, my husband didn't sleep last night.

He was a workaholic.

I sighed.

It was wise to make lemonade when life gave us lemons but when one lemon was too sour, it was best to break the popular quote and squirt it in people's eyes.

Yes, as for me, taking everything for granted flushed down the sink last night after listening to Elizabeth's crazy love story with Dwain.

One old king once said, 'respond with bitterness to the bitter actions of others.'

Dwain Horton was sour but Elizabeth was immune to him.

She wanted his heart ripped to pieces and served on a golden platter.

I wasn't going to stop her from doing the right thing. . . breaking the right heart.

Letting a series of moans stumble out of my lips while wiggling my toes, I gripped my closet for support.

Wearing high heels throughout the friendly dinner and after-night party which consisted of 'the Hortons,' close family friends, and far away relatives; squeezed comfort out of my poor toes.

Buckling the straps of my lace bra to my back and hunching my waist in other to pull my undie halfway up my thighs, the room's door flung open without warning, startling me when my eyes met with Dwain's.