Page 15 of Web of Lies
This is something I've been thinking about for a while. I'm less unstable and more lucid in the mornings and that's when I need to try to read over the things that Adrian brings home. “I'll look over them in the morning. I'm feeling pretty tired right now.”
I start to rest back against the pillows but Adrian stops me with a hand on my wrist. “If you could go ahead and look over them, I'd appreciate it.”
“Tomorrow is Friday, isn't it?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yes.”
“You only used to bring paperwork home on Friday.”
His lips curve into a full smile. “I just like to get some things set into motion before the weekend gets going, that's all. Less to deal with on Monday.”
I don't return his smile. “I don't feel up to looking over them tonight, babe,” I counter, using the pet name that used to be a term of endearment. “Just leave the folder here on the nightstand. I'll look over them in the morning. How was your day?”
“Just look them over, Larken. It's only a few contracts and one payroll addition. It will only take a few minutes.”
I sigh and close my eyes, resting my head against the headboard to emphasize my lack of energy. “I need to know what I'm signing, Adrian. My vision is blurry and I feel dizzy. I don't feel like this is a sound way to sign off on decisions. I'll feel better in the morning after I've had some rest.”
His lips tighten, no longer smiling. “Anne said you were difficult today.”
“I'm not being difficult,” I say. “I'm being responsible. I don't know what half of the papers are that you shove in my face. I'm just blindly trusting you to tell me what they are. It's irresponsible, Adrian. I'll read over the paperwork in the morning and sign what needs to be signed.”
“Fine,” he clips. “Are you hungry?”
I actually am. Usually I just eat whatever they bring me because I'm so tired and disoriented that it doesn't matter, but tonight I am legitimately hungry. “I am. Do you want to order take-out? We could get pizza delivered?”
I can feel him staring at me but I don't open my eyes to see what expression might be on his face. I'm tired of seeing pity and impatience written there. After a long minute, he sighs. “I was planning to make a soup. Tomato bisque with Parmesan and black pepper. Salad and rolls. Does that sound alright? I can pick up a pizza on the way home tomorrow.”
Tomato bisque is my favorite, and after a day of nothing but cold oatmeal and smoothies, I'll be happy to eat it. “That sounds better than pizza. Thank you, Adrian.” I smile, still keeping my eyes closed. “How was your day?” I ask again.
“Productive,” he answers. “I'll go get dinner together and bring yours up.”
“You could eat with me,” I suggest. “It could be like when we were dating and had movie marathons in bed.”
“I'll need the table. I need to look over some things for one of my projects. I'll stay with you for a while, though.”
Then he leaves and I open my eyes again, immediately looking over at the window. I miss Adrian, the version of him from before my Dad passed. I miss going on dates. I miss him bringing me flowers. I miss his jokes. I miss his affection.
I miss sex.
It's been so long that I might as well start looking into convents. He hasn't touched me in a way that wasn't clinical since I've been unwell. I didn't think he had an aversion to sickness, but maybe he does. It isn't like I'm dirty or unkempt or anything like that. Anne makes sure of it. I just need so badly to figure out what's wrong with me so that I can fix it. I want my life back.
Adrian comes back a while later with my soup and my mouth waters. “That smells so good, Adrian. Thank you for making it.”
“Of course, babe,” he says, putting the tray on the nightstand. “It's your favorite.”
He sits down on the foot of the bed and turns on the TV, quickly finding a football game with guys in bright blue shirts lining up against guys in brighter yellow shirts. Watching them run around the field makes me dizzy so I look at my dinner instead. It's beautiful. It looks like the pictures you see on food blogs. I can complain about plenty of things as far as Adrian goes, but I'll never complain about his kitchen skills. I pick up a roll and tear a chunk off the end and stir the melting Parmesan into the soup, then groan in appreciation after I put it into my mouth. “This is amazing,” I sigh.
He looks back at me and winks, then goes back to his game. “Pro ball will start in a few weeks. Maybe you'll feel up to going to a few with me.”
I nod. “I'd like that.” I'd like anything outside of this room. And if he's trying to take me to football games with him then he'll have to get me to a doctor.
After a while, he rises and tucks my hair behind my ear. “I'm going to finish up a few things downstairs. Do you want the TV left on?”
I shake my head and answer around my last bite of roll. “I have a hard time watching the screen. It makes me dizzy.” I used to enjoy listening to movies or shows, but stopped trying after it became too difficult for me to keep up with the plots.
He nods and turns it off, smiling at me before he goes back downstairs.
I finish every drop of soup and every leaf of lettuce on the tray and am happily full when I lay back against the pillows. Maybe everything will be alright if he's planning to take me to football games. Maybe things aren't as awful as I think they are, even with Anne. It's possible that my frustration and misery is causing me to imagine things.
