Bliss – Chapter Three

And here it comes, I said to myself. The beast will leap out and go for me. It was totally worth it to show everyone who he really was. Dove would step in before he could do any real harm.

Marshall Adams, his white shirt now heavy and gray from the water, his face wet, stood up. He wasn’t angry, not that I could see, not how I remembered him. He sighed. “I’m so deeply sorry I hurt you, and I wish I could take it all back,” was all he said.

“Well you can’t. And I don’t want anything to do with you… Any of you!” I said, and with that I ran crying to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Forty-five or so minutes passed before I heard the bedroom door creak open. I lay on the bed with my back to the door and refused to turn and look at Naomi, so furious and ashamed, still shaking from the confrontation.

Silence. No movement, no speech.

Then, “I know you’re awake.” Uh-oh, I knew that tone. She didn’t use it often, but when she did she meant business, and things were about to go south.

I turned to look at her, and saw the face I expected. The folded arms, the dark eyes seemingly darker in her disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told her.

She didn’t stop, raised an eyebrow instead. “This is exactly why I took the bottle from you… well, tried to.”

I sat up. “If you’re gonna lecture me, you can save it. He deserved it, and I’m not sorry.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, flabbergasted. “Are you seriously blaming me for reaching breaking point and lashing out at that piece of crap?”

“How did you get that from anything I said?”

We were fighting. Actually fighting. I didn’t know how to back down or step away, I was just too angry.

I shot up from the bed. Pointed a shaky finger at her. “You came in here being all condescending, acting like I’m in the fucking wrong—”

“Keep your voice down,” she snapped.

“Don’t tell me what to goddamn do!” I snapped back.

Her breathing had suddenly become erratic, her full lips pursed, the vein in her temple now visible.

“Dakota,” she said. Though her voice was level, underneath the surface, anger lurked, “I know you’re hurting, and I understand why you did what you did, but don’t you ever, ever speak to me like that again! I’m not your father, I’m your wife!”

“My wife who forced me to relive my trauma, planned this whole thing behind my back. Some wife you are,” I shouted. I couldn’t help myself, despite how much I wanted to. I’d never seen Naomi this rattled since we’d been married.

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