A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 38 | influencing the consultant

The strength to stay awake every morning, the motivation to leap out of bed, the satiety attained from a warm bath, dimples deepening into one's cheeks during morning coffee, the air of success drowning in healthy lungs, the brightness of a smile shifting the sides of a person's lips, depended on one thing, the state of mind.

Sandwiched in emotional battles, mind-blowing decisions, the selfishness of one's self, adapting to the high standards of life, or a mere attempt to live to the standards and expectations of a social gathering, an acquaintance or family could play a detrimental role in a person's state of mind.

Several days came and went, and failing to bury the incident at the castle made me realize the harsh reality of life.

If the mind was negative, the rest of the day would be negative, and the best hobbies for an individual would become a nightmare.

Hours, minutes, seconds, in bed at Castle River reflecting on one thing and rolling my eyes to either the white walls or the tall glass windows, brushing my palms over the coldness of the space next to me which hadn't been laid on in ages, gripping pillows to my chest and holding back tears all day long, thinking of how it should have been.

Perhaps things would have been the other way around if I'd given at least an ear to Dwain's words.

The fireplace flamed the whole of that night, raising the temperature of the room to that of a normal sunny day, liberating me from the trembling and running nostrils.

My legs were crossed on the floor, supporting my body as my backside pressed the wooden floor.

My arms sought refuge in each other, as I kept my guard down; those screams, cries, and cuddling in his arms assaulted me and my heart clenched, and my teeth sunk into my lips, preventing a tremendous breakdown.

I'd longed for answers and the opportunity presented itself to me, yet what did I do?

I shot that opportunity out of the window with harsh words.

Words that pushed Dwain to rush out of the room.

I waited for him around the blaze throughout the night, yet he didn't make an appearance till later the next day at an early hour in the morning to inform me about our ride back to the hotel.

Why did his sudden coldness sting?

I fought hard not to admit it, that it wasn't my fault, but hey, that morning coldness reminded me of how my actions that night were a mirror reflection of all the words I spat on his face.

Today marked our last day on American soil, and as a matter of fact, we were leaving for Brussels tonight, and our bags should have been packed by now, but the opposite was true.

I cuddled in bed the whole morning, skipping breakfast and reading my novel to find a strategy that could help me sort out my issues with Dwain before we got home.

On the other hand, Dwain lingered under the pressure of the shower for the whole morning.

The solitude of these past days reached a peak and if Dwain decided to give up on making things right, then it was my responsibility to fix whatever issues we had so that it might not affect Elizabeth's stay with Dwain when we must have swapped.

Each time the swap came to my mind, a smile burst through my sorrow and retouched my mood.

The glass doors of the bathroom spread open in a screeching sound, creating an awareness that Dwain was standing behind me in almost nothing.

Visuals of him wiping water from his hair, his abdomen hardening, his biceps crying for mercy under the thin layer of his skin; the defined suture of his v-line, and his broad torso, these features molested me in all wrong places, but I steadied my brain on my plan of action, that of talking things out with him.