Chapter 109
Be still, dear heart but it clenches painfully I lose my breath. He hates me. He hates us.
Too weak to walk to the light switch, I welcome the brightness pouring down on me as I shift into a sleeping position. It takes him less than a minute to spoon me, I stiffen in his arms until he cups my breast and I relax. I hate how he uses my body against me. He can sleep facing the other side of the wall for all I care. Maybe not. I love his arm around me.
“Did she really kick?” he whispers into my ear and I let his question float in the air until he coughs. His hand lowers to my stomach, a finger pokes my belly button, I giggle.
“No,” I say. I am grateful he doesn’t stop his movements on my stomach. And my breath hitches as my feelings crash over me. “But she doesn’t like it when you are mad at me.”
Planting a kiss behind my ear, he says, “I’m not mad.” He buries his head in the crook of my neck, my fingertips caress his cheek until a soft sigh escapes him. “I’m not mad.”
“But you are not happy with me.”
He sighs, I focus on the picture of us on the wall, his smile. “No one has remembered my birthday in ages, this caught me by surprise.” He sighs again. “I don’t know how to feel.”
Me too. And that’s okay. I nod, bringing his knuckles to place a kiss on them. “Okay.”
“Do you want to see a movie? I don’t feel sleepy anymore.”
Our baby girl chooses this moment to make an appearance, or, rather, make the decision for us. She kicks with so much force, evoking pleasant laughter out of both of us.
I am too tired to walk to the movie room, so I wait until Brandon’s return. He shows up soon, a bowl of popcorn in one hand and his laptop in the other. Beaming at me, he sets the popcorn down, drags me to sit in front of him while nestling his chin on my shoulder.
“What took you so long?” I ask, accepting the bowl of popcorn. I moan as a batch of the popped kernels disappears into my mouth, it has just the right amount of sugar and milk. Perfect.
His tongue makes a trail on my neck, my eyes droop. “I had to download the movie.”
Laughter bubbles in my throat, I twist my neck to get a view of his face but he ducks his head. Brandon is the only person I know who owns a laptop that has no movie, song, picture, or streaming sites. If devices can be boring, then, his laptop wears the crown.
Darkness descends over our room. The first scene comes up. We stay this way, my back to his chest, our eyes glued to the screen while I feed him at long intervals. I shake my head when the woman is called to the stand, a disgruntled sound escaping me when she lies. She lied under an oath. For her murderer of a husband. Another sound escapes me when the jury rules in her husband’s favour, he walks out of the courtroom all smirks.
Someone molested his daughter. Someone whose trial was rescheduled. Dissatisfied by the judgment, the father of the child killed the molester in a moment of rage, covered his tracks poorly and lied under oath like his wife who provided him with an alibi. Liars.
To be honest, the molester deserved his death, the jury must have felt the same way too. Even the police who barely inspected the crime scene. They were relieved to see him gone, so was I but I can’t shake off the feeling that the father was wrong. He should have been more patient with the law. What if things had gone awry? His wife could have been jailed for perjury. His kids left to live with the stigma of having a murderer for a father.
I drum my fingers on Brandon’s thigh as the credit rolls in, a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly. Light floods our room, I hear a thud as Brandon drops the remote controlling the light system inside the drawer. I get off the bed to stretch, he appears in front of me.
“You don’t seem so happy,” Brandon says. I shrug, keeping my lips sealed. He brushes his lips against mine, I weave my fingers into his hair and smile. “Did you like the movie?”
The movie was cool until the end. “I don’t like that she lied.” Brandon edges backwards to glower at me, I raise a hand for him to let me explain my stance. “She lied under oath.”
He stretches one hand in my direction, lips puckered into an irritating frown. My bump does a good job of keeping us at a certain distance, I place a hand on my hips as a mighty wave of tiredness rolls over me. His frown deepens into a scowl, I have a dark feeling he will support the man and his wife. That thought scares and irks me. Murder is murder.
“If she hadn’t lied, her husband would have gone to prison,” he says through gritted teeth like he’s holding back the rest of his words and I nod. His eyes blaze with irritation and I shift my weight to one foot. “He would have been sentenced to life or death, Elna.”
“Rightfully so,” I chip in. Meeting his gaze, I clear my throat, wiping traces of annoyance from my voice. “You are not allowed to kill everyone who hurts you because you can.”
If he was irritated before, now he is furious. He runs his hand over his mouth as if trying to filter his reply, his condescending gaze sweeps over me and I find myself staggering backwards to increase the gap between us. I don’t like the direction of this conversation.
Whether he likes it or not, the man is a murderer and the law should take its course.
“Are you listening to yourself?” he screams at me and I flinch. Instead of apologising, he lowers his voice. “That bastard molested his child, his daughter,” he says while slapping the back of his hand over his palm like I am not getting his point. But I get it. “Jail would have been too good for that bastard. We saw how he was planning to bribe his way into a smaller sentence.” My eyes close, I let out a shaky breath, he’s hollering. “What is your problem? How can you not see that his wife did the right thing? Are you kidding me?”
When my eyes fly open, they are blazing with the same amount of rage swimming in his. I count to ten to kill my anger, he scoffs. Blinding fury spills over me and I lose control.
“Okay. The man is dead, now what?” I shout at him. My voice matches his, a high pitch sound I am unfamiliar with and he lifts a brow I am tempted to slap down. “Does it take away the pain he caused the girl? Or the trauma she has to live with?” I poke a finger into his chest. “You are the one who has a problem thinking it okay to commit murder.”
Silence rings out in the room after my explosion, I bring my quaking hands to my sides, inhale and exhale until my breathing is under control. He is stressing me and our baby. I need to remember the baby. We are having a futile argument over a fictional movie.
Anger simmers inside me, he thinks I have a problem because I didn’t support a killer.
“Murder?” he says in a voice I have to strain my ears to hear. My chest deflates, I make a mental decision to keep shut. This topic is sensitive for him. “Speaking hypothetically, if a paedophile molests Brianna, do you expect me to sit still and let the law do its thing?”
“Yes.” I should have remained quiet but I can’t stop talking now. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I throw my hands in the air and let out an audible sigh. “Brandon, the law is the law.”
“Even for our baby?” Emotions dash across his face, making it harder for me to identify his current mood. He points a finger to my stomach. I wrap my arms over my bump.
“The girl in your womb.” My eyes widen, bile rises to my throat and I am sickened by the sight of him. He admits she is a girl to make his point. I scoff. “Do I also sit back and let some judge slap a few years sentence on the paedophile’s wrist? Knowing he will be out soon as a free man while our baby bears the scar. You expect me to sit back, be calm?”
I shrug. Brandon’s expression falls and I can almost hear the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces. What does he expect me to say? If the law will take its course, we should allow it. He is not being fair with his question and he knows it. I try to bridge the distance between us but he shakes his head and my heart thumps so hard against my rib cage, I wheeze. We should have gone to bed. I should have picked sleep over a movie.
“Wow,” he says, genuinely surprised at my choice. “I am disappointed in you.”
His sincerity prickles my skin, drives a blunt knife straight to my chest, I will the tears attempting to make an appearance to stay away. He is the one with the twisted logic, not me, I shouldn’t feel guilty. Squaring my shoulders, I stick my chin in the air and cross my arms.
“I’m disappointed in you more, Brandon. Two wrongs can never make a right.” Pressing a finger to my temple, I release a sigh. “I might have understood if your anger is about your birthday but a stupid movie with characters living their best lives out there while we argue?” I shake my head slowly. “On your birthday night? If you are still upset with me because I mentioned your birthday, say it. Don’t hide under hypothetical questions.”
The look he sends me has my confidence wavering and an apology threatens to spill from my lips. I wanted us to end today on a happy note. He had to ruin it with his stupid ideologies and need for revenge. Yes, that is all there is to say about the movie. Revenge.
He nods, says in a small voice, “Goodnight.”
Terror runs through me as his figure retreats to the door. He is leaving. He is leaving me. The thought takes form in my head, grows large enough to puncture a hole in my skull. His hand closes over the knob, my limbs quiver, anger soaks my skin and I detonate.
“Yeah, run from the problems like you always do. Don’t communicate, do it Brandon style. Incommunicado.” He opens the door, my ears ring at the creak and my heart shrinks. Tears coat my lashes, I scream, “Well, I hope Brianna doesn’t turn out like you.”
He slams the door behind him. So hard I jump back. A sob escapes me, I stare longingly at the door, hoping he returns to cuddle me. But nothing of such happens and my heart rips into two as the seconds painfully roll by without my husband’s reappearance.