It’s a high no drug compares to.
I think I’d like to share it with Ariella one day.
Ariella
Three days pass and with every minute, my confusion over Erico’s actions grows.
The first day—the one after he dragged me outside for lunch and began this weird routine of twenty questions—he had a couch added to the music room. Padded, beige, and tucked across the opposite wall.
The second day, there was an entire sitting area. More chairs, and another couch added, along with a table.
The third day, a large desk pushed against another wall. This one had a note taped to it. An explanation, which didn’t help clearanythingup.
So you have a place to write your music.
The other furniture never came with such a note, but I learned why that first day. When hours after I found the couch, Erico entered the music room and sat on it. Propped one leg up over the other and merely challenged me with a lift of his brow when I glared.
Every day after that, he’s come in.
Three days of him watching. Three days of silence. He doesn’t talk or do anything when he’s with me.
Three days of growing confidence because each day, after watching me play for hours, his only words come right as he’s leaving, and it’s always with the same statement:‘You play beautifully. I’d love to hear you sing one day.’
We spend every meal together. Sometimes talking—him speaking, me texting—and sometimes not. He seems to set the atmosphere, which has me more and more frustrated, wondering if he’s waiting for me to take charge one day.
He mentioned a party that his mother is hosting in our stead. A partywe’resupposed to put on, but apparently, he made it her task. I smiled and nodded when he told me because, while not stated, I understood what he actually did for me. Party planning is one of my tasks, as the Boss’s wife, but he protected me this time.This time.Eventually, this moment will catch up with me.
Our days are relatively positive. Friendly. In the evening, when I swim, he locks himself in his office. But then at nighttime, he leaves the property.
Night one, I believed it was for business. He’s a Boss of a mafia family after all, and even I’m aware that most of the underground sketchy deals occur at nighttime, away from prying eyes and under the cover of darkness. He leaves early in the evening because despite his claim to be working from his office, it’s a long drive into the city. I assumed he wouldn’t be back that night, but he crawled into bed around three in the morning, long after I passed out.
Night two, more business dealings. Same departure and arrival time.
Night three was when the darkness creeped into my thoughts. After two and a half days of feeling decent, with a stable mood that hasn’t been taunting me with the temptation to hide in bed all day, it hit me. After he left the third night, it wiped away any progress I’ve been gaining. The pestering inner monster slithered in and snatched my heart again, my thoughts, and planted the negative ones.
Perhaps he’s cheating. Took a mistress. You’re not doing your job as his wife so of course he went elsewhere, to someone who will give him what he needs.
God, I tried to ignore the voice. Bury it beneath the deep-rooted feeling that I don’t believe Erico would do that.
But it always has a counterargument.He left it in your control. It’s been a week and you’ve done nothing with him. He’s gotten tired of waiting.
Still, I push on. Pretend it’s not bothering me. Convince myself, he’s doing his job. But every evening, it’s the exact same pattern, the same timings. Every night, when I go to bed and he comes into the bedroom to change from his suit to more casual clothing.
Every time, I try remain awake, staring at the time ticking away on my phone. But he’s gone so long, I end up falling asleep. Which is probably best since my heart couldn’t handle observing him sneak in during the middle of the night.
There’s numerous reasons for his actions, and I know this, but the nagging, evil voice decides otherwise.
On my back in the pool, sunglasses on, I stare at the sun, seeking answers within the glaring rays. Nico blatantly warned me of this, having no precise insight into how theFamigliamanages relationships. He said this organization was as traditional as they come and keeping a mistress isn’t unheard of.
That’s what’s crushing me. What makes me almost want to turn onto my stomach and drink in the chlorine until I become part of the pool water. It’s one thing to give up my chance of finding a man whochoosesto be with me, who wants me and the life we’ll create and the children we’ll have. I volunteered that chance away and accepted a man I’d hoped to find a shred of happiness with. But my silly heart hoped he wouldn’t resort tothat.
If he is…I don’t know what I’ll do. Living with it seems so impossible. Sickening.
What Idoknow, is I won’t waste my life not knowing. Three days has sucked, but I won’t spend a lifetime wondering, worrying,pretending. No. If he is, he’ll admit it to my face so I can work through my emotional consequences.
Being mute, people stopped remembering who I am and who I was; all they see is the silent woman they deem to be ‘quiet’ due to the diagnosis. With all the changes in the last two years, this had been my armour against others, but before, I wasn’t quietat all. If someone pissed me off, they knew it. If I had an issue, I was vocal about it.
While I may be unable to speak to Erico with my voice, wewilltalk. It’s a silent promise I make to myself and the sun above. And to him, where he watches me from his office window. He does so often, but I pretend not to notice. I refuse to live with the wonder, the fear, the heartbreak. More so, I refuse to blame him for something he might not be doing. Miscommunication and misunderstanding are not for me.