Twain Became One

CHAPTER 14: Dont feel, don' t remember.

Love is not a place to come and go as we please,
It's a house we enter in then commit to never leave, so lock the door behind you throw away the keys.
Work it out together let it bring us to our knees. - WB

October 2018.

Pamela

"Lets go for marriage counselling," my husband of barely three and half years said. I just kept moisturising my hair and lightly finger detangling not caring to answer him.

Chris was sitting at the edge of our matrimonial bed, his hands resting casually on his thighs as he bit his lower lips, he always did that when he was emotional; angry, sad, playful, or aroused.

"This silence is killing me and you know it," he looked at me like I was breaking him.

I wondered where he got the guts to do that. To look at me like I was the one breaking him, after impregnating Nina.

Turning my head to look at him, all I wanted to do was to break free from this pain haze, it was clouding my vision, my mind, drowning my sanity. Yet a part of me knew it was the only way to not break into tiny pieces.  So I disconnected from it all, from the reality that we were broken, and hid in my shell where it was all perfect.

If I dared to feel am scared I'll go insane, scared it was all a lie.

I am a coward, simply put.

"Are you not supposed to be at work? You haven't gone to work, two days in a row," I answered like we were just another happy couple who cared for each others daily activities.

This was a welcome distraction, I'll take anything to live in denial.

"Don't change the topic, Pamela" he replied tensely. Chris began to tap his feet lightly.

Oh, so we are at Pamela and Christopher now hmn hubby?

"I have nothing to say. I feel blank almost numb." I answered truthfully. As I spoke, I continued my hair routine I knew by heart.

Get a portion of hair, spray it with the contents of my spray bottle down to the roots, massage oil in, seal in all the moisture with my whipped Shea butter cream then make two stranded twists and put the section away.

A familiar memory broke through my barriers, kf another place and time of him, moisturising her hair gently, softly finger detangling and muttering "I love your hair, its your halo. I love the way it shadows you. I love running my hands through the soft tresses."

'Don't feel, don't remember, don't break. If you do there will be no pieces to pick up' my subconscious reminded me. A soft reminder that if I let myself feel the amount of emotions beneath this cold control I'll break.

Chris walked out now his feet almost noiseless on the rugged floor. When he got to the door, he whipped his head around said, "Keeping things bottled, eats you up on the inside and if you think I am not going to fight for you, for our kids or family, you are mistaken."

The nerve of that bastard. I am trying so hard to remember a single thing that was true. His large hands I use to love on my skin must have roamed hers too.