The Ex-Convict's Obsession

We have had better days, but today is not one of them. Even kisses being littered on my neck and around my shoulder can not be enough balm to soothe my nerves.

This melancholy that I bear alone and I can not share with anyone is one of the many reasons couples are torn apart. I want to share, but I can't. No one would understand. 

  Philip is standing behind me with his hands wrapped around my waist while I stare off into the garden from the window. The cup of coffee he made for me is on the kitchen Island getting cold. I only sipped it half way.

His cold lips meet a spot on my neck as his hands travel down the length of my arm.

Amidst my thoughts, I chuckle. "Thought you have to get to work."

"I'm at work," he says. He spins me around and moves me back to the table before he lifts me to it while he settles in between my legs, still driving me crazy with kisses in the hollow of my neck. I have my neck thrown back for him to taste as I move closer to rub my Honeypot on his crotch. He steadies my hand and moves back and I can see the hunger in my eyes in his.

I lean forward and smile on his lips before we take each other's lips, working to get our clothes off with our hands. He frees my shirt and kisses my bare shoulder while trying to undo my bra and I get my hands busy with the band of his trouser before the sound of the door jerks us to a stop.

My heart leaves its place as the door bursts open and David walks in and shuts the door with a smirk on his face.

It is a slow process of regaining control. I'm embarrassed, angry and filled with other emotions I can not identify. Completely ruffled, I struggled to put my dress together. I was expecting him. I just knew he would come. I didn't think it would be today. He was the reason my dark thoughts have been louder recently.

  Philip is caught off guard and he steps in front of me purposely to cover me and he points at the intruder and asks, "Who are you?"

David is wearing a jacket over washed jeans. Still he looks the same. More rough than he used to, but his dominating aura is still there. He refuses to answer Philip's question. He runs his hand on the wall and steps in fully. I hate his presence. I hate that all the anger inside of me is not huge enough to walk him out of my house — his house — our house.

He inhales and directs his steel gaze to Philip. "I'm David Gage. The woman you were about to devour is my wife."

His eyes do a slow travel and he flicks his fingers too. "I believe you are in my house and on my property. So who are you?"

David makes it easier to hate him with his appearance. Philip looks at me and I wish I can apologize and make the anger in his eyes go away. "You knew he was out, Helen?" He asks. His jaw is tightening and twitching and I have no reason. "Why didn't you let me know?"

"Because you are nothing to her." 

David laughs, looking around the place like a realtor. How could he come to get a laugh in my place?

"What's wrong with you!" I throw at David. We stare at each other and I hope he sees the disdain in my eyes for him.

 I move closer to calm Philip, but he storms towards the door and as he steps out in a shirt he hates to wear during the day time, I realize how angry he must be.

I inhale and exhale, trying to be calm. This is the first time I'm seeing David in four years now. The last time I saw him I was in love with him. The days after that I spoke about him with pains that strangled my heart. Months after that, I thought of him when I wanted to feel lost, confused and broken.

Now he stands here, touching the new flowers James got me, rubbing his hand on my wall, having the stupid guts to describe me as his wife. "Wife?"

"You didn't like flowers before," he says. It's not a question, but he expects a response. His eyes remain on me, waiting for a reply I don't want to give.

In a low voice, I finally reply, "You don't know me." 

"Julie said she told you I was getting out yesterday."

His face has contoured into a frown. It makes me happy that he is hurt or angry by something I did.

"You were supposed to come get me."

I give a noncommittal shrug. "But I didn't owe you that."

He snorts and looks around with an unreadable expression. "We are still married, Helen," he says. " Whatever happened, you still owed me a ride from Jail."

"No, I didn't."

"Do you want to shower?" He throws his hands in the pockets of jeans and stares at me. I reciprocate with a glare. There is a fresh aching within me for the things I have lost because of this man and he is here asking about flowers and baths. Was he serious?

I want to run to where he is and fling the flower vase at him. I want to hurt him so bad. It won't bring back anything, but who knows the relief I might feel?

"Helen, you good?"

"What?" 

He points towards the stairs. "Shower. Go shower and calm your head. I'll be right here."

"No, as a matter of fact. I would like to shower, but I don't need you here when I return."

"Don't be ridiculous. This is the address on my release form. I live here."

I inhale. I won't bare myself to this selfish man today. I walk past him to the stairs relieved that he smells like nothing. He used to smell like mild cinnamon and husk. Now even his hair is grown more than it should and he has stubbles all over his face. Not attractive at all.

Under the shower, I angrily sponge my skin. I need to call Philp. I owe him an apology. I need to figure out David's accommodation. He. Can't. Live. Here.

What was he thinking? That he'll stay in Jail for four years without letting me see him and when he gets out, I'm supposed to just flow with it. We fall right back to being husband and wife, playing house. He shows up in my house with his hair grown out and he's supposed not to look handsome, but the stubbles still give him a dangerous handsome look.

He's still there alright when I get down. He is now settled into a couch with one of my books in his hands. His eyes turn to me as I descend the stairs.

"I read your latest book in the prison. Julie mailed it to me," he says, looking at the book in his hand.

I shrug. It still doesn't matter. "That's good."

He narrows his eyes at me. "You never wrote to me. Why didn't you ever write to me?"

I take a seat on a different couch. "We're going to talk about where you would be staying because you are not going to be staying here."

"No, Dove. I want you to shout, yell at me, beat me. Don't hide your emotions from me."

"Oh," I say, crossing my leg over the other. "Does it mean you can't tell I hate you?"

He's silent for a while, looking at his shoes. Then he looks up at me. "You hate me? You have been acting like a high schooler in a love-hate relationship."

I bob my head. "Your humor is not all dried out. Nice."

He smiles and readjusts his jacket. Why doesn't this man look malnourished, nobody gave him hard labor? Did he charm his way into prison too?

I lean forward. "Why are you here actually, David?"

"I stayed in a hotel last night. I can't do that the whole year, can I?" 

The nonchalance and arrogance he uses to speak infuriates me, yet I smile tightly as I ask, "Your sister, Julie, what about her?"

"What about her?" he replies. "I wanted to be alone on my first night out of jail."

I clap my hands together and bring it between my legs. "Well, what about the other house?"

"It's so obnoxious that you have not been there in a while. I have to be where you are. You are responsible for me."

Putting my hand over my mouth I laugh. "Responsible for you?"

"Yes, you don't need me falling into depression or roaming the streets without a job?" He raises the side of his lips in a wicked grin.

I hold up a hand completely astounded. "No, wait. What's going on with you really?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you remember me when you seem to have amnesia?" I ask.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Are you being funny?"

"What about your company, David?"

"I sold it. It wasn't worth much any longer, but I don't have to work in life again."

"What!" I rise to my feet. "What about the workers? You are always fucking selfish."

David rises with me. "I'm selfish? When was the last time you visited that company? You are supposed to be my wife. It is our company!"

"Our company? I knew nothing about it and you know this. You handed over everything to Martin! Was I supposed to supervise him?"

I realize what I just did by the satisfied smile on his face. I yelled at him. I just let him see me angry. I inhale and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Again. Inhale. Exhale. Then I walk towards the tap for a cup of water. 

He walks to me and takes the glass, deliberately touching my fingers. It's been four years. Four years since we touched, since we stayed this close, since our eyes have met in such a short distance. I move back, away from him.

He gulps the water and pays attention to me. He's back to being the David Gage I know. He was trying to intimidate me by staring at me for a long time. I try to match his stare, but I can't.

"I missed you," he says.

I did not.

He points at the glass windows. "Does your boyfriend stay in the guest house?"

"No," I say, too forcefully.

"Good. I'll be staying there."

He holds up his hand when I want to object. "Tomorrow we'll talk about how you can employ me."

I fold my arms and watch him walk towards the door and then he's out.