Page 113 of His to Bedevil

I spend a couple of hours trying to do some work, but it’s not at all efficacious. I shouldn’t be down here right now while my wife is upstairs remaining quiescent. After what happened last night, after the words we exchanged, I belong right by her side. Every minute of every hour until she forgives me and I earn full absolution.

Picking up my phone, I stand up and start heading out of the office. Lucas answers after the first ring. “Yeah.”

“I’m taking a few days off. Marco needs to be taken care of and replaced. Some of his supplies have gone missing. Get him to confess or find out where the missing shit is first.” I don’t wait for an answer and hang up.

I see Juanita coming down the stairs. “Juanita.” I’m sure she was checking on Irma.

She gives me a stern look. She’s not happy with me at all about the situation with Irma. “Has my wife eaten yet?”

She sighs. “She has food, but no, she has not eaten it yet.”

“Gracias, Juanita.” I eye the top of the stairs. “Have all her belongings returned to our room.”

She gives me a little smile. “Sí, señor.”

I get up to our room and stand in front of the closed bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, preparing myself for either the cold shoulder or an explosive invective from her, I open it and slip inside, closing it behind me. I see Irma right away, sitting at the table with food untouched as she stares outside. I slip off my suit jacket and roll up my sleeves as I near her.

“Irma, my love, will you please eat?” I try for niceties. She crosses her arms but doesn’t say anything. “Irma.” I crouch down. “Tell me what to do,” I say gently. I am beyond contrite and willing to do anything. To find a way to shed light on my true intentions.

Her head slowly turns to me with a scowl. “You can go to hell,” she simply states, then she turns her head back to gaze out the glass doors.

My fists automatically clench, and I want to shake her. Instead, I take a deep breath in then out. “Irma,” I try to say calmly, but it comes out like a growl. I take another deep breath. “Come on.” I stand up and hold my hand out. “Let’s go for a drive.”

She turns to me again and doesn’t look like she wants to kill me. “Can I drive?”

“Of course.” I try smiling.

She ignores my hand and stays seated. “I need clothes.”

I let out a deep breath. “You should eat first,mi amor. Juanita will bring your clothes up soon. Then we’ll go.”

She looks at me and blinks a few times, eyes glazed over. “Fine,” she says, then starts eating.

I stand there for a moment watching her, and I want to throttle her. I want to shake her and demand that she forgive me and give up this uncompromising malice of hers. To stop being so damn stubborn and unmalleable. I want to tell her that it hurt me just as badly to be apart from her. That I’ve been turning into a madman, thirsty for blood. I still have a building filled with prisoners that I visit on a daily basis to get my pound of flesh out of for cathartic reasons.

When there’s a knock at the door, I call out for them to enter, assuming it’s Juanita with Irma’s belongings. I tear my eyes away from Irma and watch Juanita enter with a large clothing rack full of clothing. She gives me a stern look then looks at Irma and gives her a kind smile. I roll my eyes and grumble under my breath, “Yeah, yeah. I’m the bad guy here, I know.”

I go to the bathroom and close myself in there to wash up. Always hoping that today will be the day that Irma lets me kiss her, or better yet, she’ll kiss me. Jesus, I feel like a fucking teenager hoping to get my first kiss. The things this woman does to me.

When I come out, I hear voices coming from the closet, both Irma’s and Juanita’s. I walk over to the table and look down at the food that’s still left. I can see that a lot of it is gone, so that’s good.

Irma emerges from the closet wearing what I’m pretty sure is called a romper with her Yankees baseball cap, her hair in a low knot at the back of her head, and some sneakers. She looks at me with a passive stare. “Ready?” she asks me before I can ask her.

I nod, and as she nears me, I hold out my hand, but she shuns me. She walks right past me and heads for the door. In two long strides, I beat her to the door and snatch her hand in mine, tired of her petulance. She tries to yank it free, but I manage to lace my fingers with hers and hang on with a tight grip. I pull her out of the room, practically dragging her behind me, and we head for the stairs.

If you want to act like a puerile child, I will treat you like one, my love.

Alejandro

After Irma takes her time adjusting the seat to her much smaller self, we head out. I direct her to the right when we pull out of the gates. She starts out at a steady speed. There’s no speed limit back here, so it doesn’t matter what speed she goes. Not that it would really matter anyway.

Glancing over at Irma again, I notice how tense she looks. I don’t know if she’s nervous or what, but she’s white-knuckling the wheel, and her facial features are strained. I reach over and place a palm on her thigh just above her knee, making her flinch. “Irma, my love, are you okay?”

She ignores me and speeds up, not taking her eyes off the road in front of her. I glance at the speedometer and realize we’re still picking up speed. “Irma, do you mind slowing down some?” She doesn’t respond or look at me. Instead, she presses down on the accelerator even more. “Irma,” I say a little louder, and squeeze her thigh in warning. “Slow down. Now,” I demand. She grapples at the wheel even harder as she seems to get even more agitated. “Irma,” I snap. “Slow down!”

I glance at the road ahead of us, and I see another car heading our direction. I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I look over at Irma again and try to stay calm. “Irma, please, my love. Slow down,” I say gently, but nothing is getting through to her right now.

I glance at the other car coming closer, and Irma swerves the car into their lane, heading right for the other car. I hear them lay on their horn, and I begin to really panic. Irma’s eyes widen slightly, and she stares straight ahead as if she’s in some kind of trance, like a moth being drawn to a flame. If I don’t act now, we’re dead.

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