The Good Wife

13

She turns away, sobbing as he stands at the door, listening to her. With a little sigh, he steps out, shutting the door behind him.

"She's so used to me being a monster that the real Pariston seems unfamiliar to her." He mumbles to himself, wondering where he went wrong.

Forgetting how many pieces he has broken her soul into.

Forgetting how many unhealable bruises he has given her.

Forgetting how many old wounds he has ripped open.

The day went normal at the Hemsworth villa. Pariston drowned himself in work with his father. Amber stayed in the room, shedding silent tears. As Mrs. Hemsworth cooked dinner. She sent it to Amber's room, not before adding the entire jar of salt to her plate.

After a long, family dinner, Pariston came into his room. He frowned looking at the unfinished food. He sat on the bed, watching her sleep. His eyes followed her chest heaving, her skin looking like glowing dark honey under the moonlight with dusky, heavy locks framing her face.

Pariston stroked her cheeks with his knuckles, feeling her soft skin against his rough fingers, "Pretty." He whispers under his breath.

He stands up, turning around when she lets out a little moan, "Arl-lle."

Pariston turns around, looking at her closely. He waits for her to repeat her but she only turns around, still in her deep slumber.

"Who is this fucking All or was it Elle?" He groans, trying to figure out what it was.

-♡-

Dark scars, bones poking out of her skin, sunken cheeks and dead eyes. Four days later, she sat in front of the mirror, dressing up to meet her family. She couldn't even recognize herself anymore.

She has been surviving on a few bites of the inedible food she was getting and the pills her husband is shoving down her throat. Wondering how long will it take until she dies.

With a loud sigh, she stands up, looking at herself her in the white summer dress. She stared at herself for a little more before she realised, she would probably never like what she sees anymore.

When she was five, she often cried in front of the mirror, thinking if she wasn't this pretty, then probably her uncle would leave her alone. He often told her how pretty she was when he hurt her.

Now, she cries in front of the mirror thinking if she was a little more prettier, her husband would atleast treat her like a human. He never loses a chance to tell her how ugly she is, and his words always hit directly at that weak spot.

After a lot of contemplating, she walked downstairs into the hall. Pariston sat on the couch, going through the newspaper as she slowly slipped on the couch beside him.

"Your parents?" She whispers.

"They had an event to attend." Pariston says, not taking his eyes off the paper.

"Thank god." Amber mumbles under her breath.

Pariston hears her, but he shakes his head, ignoring her. He eventually puts the paper away, turning to her as he feels his lungs out of air.

"You . . . you look so good. So gorgeous." He stutters at the sight of her.

She shifts away from him, clutching her dress. It never ended good for her whenever a man other than her father gave her a compliment.

"Amber." He whispers, cupping her cheeks.

"Pariston, please." She tries to walk away when he pushes her down on the couch, climbing on top of her.