A Garden Of Hydrangeas

ایک | One

Chapter 20.

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Their terrified lips froze in the middle, the sanguine warmth of the hearth and the tray full of food relished their spirits full. It filled them up, with graciousness, it gave that which words could not have provided them with ; security and sublime spirits — love and bit more. From the anticipation of touching each other's skin, in the devilish of ways, so wrong but — just right for them ; for each other. If that were not the essence of their being, so wholly wrong but so devoted, then they were deceived and doomed as two lovers. Then their ends would be short, and the flame of their romance a tiny wax stub.

The cream of mushroom soup, warmed their throats instantly. All irritated inflammations were softened as the rich flavor infused itself into their pores, transported into their veins that were just a few minutes ago, icy blue from the chill. A borderline hypothermia, slid out of their shell like frames, the closeness of their bodies warming away the remains of the icicle shards. With gentle fingers Arham picked the shards of ice out of her hair, the ones that had yet to melt into a puddle — much like his heart in front of her. His lips rested on top of her forehead, numb against her forehead warming up her skin. His hands, lifting spoonful upon spoonful of soup to her lips.

Filza's hands still shivered, popping a fish cracker into his mouth. While her body was warm and heart sated at last, the mind still was ; stuck in the tiny hut. The dingy dilapidated state of it, the scratchy voice and slap that had her cheek still throbbing kept her from being completely normal. Her body shivered underneath the thick duvet and shawl, his arms around her did little to stable her but still they ignored everything that was wrong — they were married and that was all that mattered. After the horrors of the scary six hours that she was kept away from her family, fears — unknown had taken over. Feeling Arham beside her as she gained consciousness and found herself in the walls of her bedroom, at peace, she felt afraid. Filza was not risking it ; she did not want to loose her beloved, even if it meant rushing the wedding and wearing her pajama's as they signed away their lives — into the names of each other.

The fragrant hydrangea bouquet of the bride lay on one side of her bed. The green stems were tied together by a thin gold string, their pink bushy heads with pollen in the centre were still fresh, a few curling inwards as they withered — most immortalized into a scathing memory. Fervently they turned her skin red, the marks of the wounds turning redder, an ache in her muscles tearing at her, tears spilling out of her soft doe eyes.

"Filza are you — are you alright?"

Arham fretted over her like a worried mother hen. His thumbs wiped away the tears, placing the bowl of soup away lest it's scalding contents burn her skin.

"It hurts — it hurts! I feel so much pain and anger. I — I don't know what I want to say but my mind it— it won't stop thinking!"

She threw her fists on the sides of her head, boxing them. Her swollen lips wobbled with anxiousness, her fingers tightened into a grip on top of her head, squeezing the life out of it as the incessant ache spilled to the ends of her jaw. Filza clenched her teeth, biting her tongue in the midst of it.

"Should — should I call the doctor?"

Arham slapped his forehead, retrieving his phone from the side tae, dialing the number of his private doctor in the province. His fingers massaged her head, his phone held between his ears and shoulders waiting for the buzzing to end and for the familiar warm voice to spill out. Filza's pale skin and frightened eyes would be forever imprinted in to his memory. They carried in them an empty, haunting look. She twitched, her fingers shook as they rested over the bruised cheek. Slowly dragging a finger across them, the thick warmth that oozed from the skin slipped the embrace of peace and happiness off, like hands removing a thin shift with sultry motions.