Cruel Beloved

“Put the phone down.”

Carla does as I ask, then she looks up to me. “You do know how to pick them, right?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I do. I picked you, so I guess I’m doing all right.”

She slides back down in bed. “Do you love her? Is she right?”

Dropping my towel, I climb straight into bed, while she watches, not saying a word. “No.”

“Have you ever been in love before?”

“No,” I tell her honestly. “Have you?”

“I’ve loved, but I don’t think I was in love. My first boyfriend in college.”

“It’s overrated.”

“Is that what you believe?” she asks. “Why?”

“My mother cheated on my father, yet she claimed to love him. Aren’t you meant to protect those you love?” I tell her, truthfully.

“I guess, but one bad outcome shouldn’t deter you. My grandparents had the greatest love, and one day, I want that for myself,” she tells me, and her honesty surprises me.

“You’ll get it.”

“Just not with you, right?” she asks, turning back over and lying down.

“Do you want to play another game?” I ask, avoiding her question.

“No,” she answers, not even looking my way.

“This doesn’t have to be so painful, you know.”

Carla doesn’t answer me.

It’s probably for the best.

Who knows what else I might say to her?

Who knows what else she could bargain from me?

“Whiskey.” Carla pushes me.

I swear I just passed out.

Why is she waking me? I want to sleep.

She pushes me again, kicking me in the leg. “Whiskey.”

Opening my eyes, she’s next to me, her hands on my chest, my sheet on the floor.

“You were screaming,” she says, her eyes not moving from me, her hand flat on my chest. “What were you dreaming about?” she asks.

Sitting up, I wipe the sweat from my face. “Go back to sleep, Carla.” I climb out going straight to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. Checking the time, it’s only been an hour. How the fuck can it only be an hour? I felt like I was trapped in that dream and couldn’t escape for hours. I haven’t had that nightmare for quite some time. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my father’s face, white as a ghost hanging from our garage ceiling.

Standing under the cold water, I let it wash over me to wake me up, so when I go back to bed, I won’t have that particular nightmare again.

But the minute I close my eyes, I see him again. And I’m not even in bed yet.

Turning off the shower, I get out, drying myself, and open the door.

Carla is sitting up, looking at the door. She turns to me when I walk out and climb into bed. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Why lie?

“I usually sleep like the dead, but your screams scared me,” she says, shivering. “They sounded painful.”

“It’s over now. Go back to sleep, Carla.”

“Did you need me to do anything?” she asks.

I lay back, switching off the light, and close my eyes. Her hand comes into mine from the pillow fort, and she grips it, then soon her soft snore fills the room while her hand stays locked in mine.

I don’t let go until the morning.

20

Carla

Whiskey has avoided me for almost a week. It isn’t until the day before our wedding when I come home and he’s actually there, at the table with it set up to eat.

“Did you cook?” I ask while sitting. I cooked all week and put his food in the oven every night. The plate was clean in the morning when I got up, but he was gone. If it weren’t for that, I would have questioned if he even came home to sleep. A few times, I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and seen him sleeping next to me. But he’s always gone before I wake.

“No, I don’t cook, you know that,” he says, sliding a glass of water my way.

“Thanks.” He nods. “Are you nervous?” I ask him, referring to tomorrow.

“Should I be?”

“I am. I’m getting married. Forced or not, it doesn’t matter.”

“Only ten and a half months to go, Carla, then you will be set free.”

Eleven months, I read in the contract, started from the date I moved in. The time is getting shorter, and I couldn’t be happier about it. If only I didn’t have to actually marry him in the first place.

“Why are you here? Isn’t it a thing for you to be away from me tonight?” he asks.

“Emma suggested it, but this isn’t as real as I would have wanted it to be if I were marrying the love of my life. So why treat it that way?”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

“What kind of kiss are we going for tomorrow?” I ask him. That kiss has been on my mind ever since it happened. It needs to go away.

“What one would you like?”