In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships

Chapter 17

For the third consecutive time, Wanda skips her therapy session.

She leaves Calliope's calls unanswered, letting them go straight to voicemail (and cowardly deleting the messages without listening to them), and as a result, her therapist stops trying to contact her by the end of the week.

Dealing with Calliope and her rational advice feels overwhelming for Wanda at the moment. She doesn't want other voices in her head right now. She wants to listen to her heart this time. And it's saying that you need her right now despite how it might affect her progress.

It's not her intention to stop going to her sessions altogether. She has, in fact, confirmed for Tuesday, but you showed up at her apartment once again the night before, and, well, one thing led to another. You both ended up so wiped out that she didn't stir until nearly noon. By that time, two hours have slipped by, and her session with Calliope might as well be considered canceled.

Since she's handed over the weekday cafe opening duties to Peter, Wanda doesn't need to be there at the break of dawn anymore. But this also has its downside; there isn't enough inventory prepped for the full day's rush. This leaves her drowning in work from midday right up until closing time.

The way this arrangement saps her energy and leaves her feeling more fatigued than usual is hardly beneficial, yet—

Yet, it's hard for her to harbor any regrets when she feels your comforting warmth cocooned against her back, your body spooning hers, your gentle snores vibrating softly against her skin. In these snatched moments, she can delude herself into believing that the ring she now wears around her neck should rightfully still be on her finger.

She can pretend that you're still unequivocally hers, and all the traumatic events of the past year are merely fragments of an extended, horrendous nightmare.

It's turning into a routine. You'd show up unannounced, stay until dawn. Once the post-coital haze clears, Wanda tries to nudge you both into discussing what all this means. But as soon as she utters the words, "can", "we", and "talk"—in that exact order—you're heading for the door with a speed that's hard to believe.

But after enduring another week of this unsettling routine, Wanda finally convinces herself that today, she's going to get some answers.

And with that plan in place, she repositions herself on the bed, turning to face you. Looking at your innocent sleeping face, she second-guesses her resolve, opting to postpone the looming confrontation just a bit longer.

Gently, almost reverently, she lets her finger trace the contours of your face. She starts at the bridge of your nose, moves down to your slightly parted lips, then to your neck, and finally your collarbone. It seems to protrude more than she remembers, hinting that you've lost weight. This realization stirs guilt in her, as she acknowledges she's partly to blame.

Her cautious touch eventually rouses you, and she observes as your eyelashes flutter before your eyes slowly open. For a moment, you look disoriented even as your eyes meet her clear green ones. You blink up at her as if you don't recognize the woman you're in bed with, but then, as recognition sets in, you nestle closer to her and tuck your head beneath her chin, seeking shelter from the daylight filtering through the slatted blinds.

"I can hear you thinking," you murmur, your breath whispering across her neck, a spot particularly ticklish for Wanda.

She stifles her giggles, and the resulting tremors resonate against your forehead. The sound is sweet, familiar, and it conjures up memories of moments you've longed for. But it also accentuates the odd situation you're in right now, sharing a bed with your ex-wife, skirting around the glaring issue between you.