Being His Unwanted Wife [INKITT]

1.

I AM RUSTY SO THIS IS NOT LONG AND PROBS NOT GOOD. FORGIVE ME BUT I'LL START MAKING THEM LONGER, I SWEAR. ENJOY THIS UPDATE :)

HELEN FLANAGAN AKA GODDESS ABOVE

[M]

Electric blue eyes try to sway mine into deceit, embracing my harsh thoughts with a soft, gentle stare yet nothing could pipe my anger down.

"Talk to me." I demand lowly yet the woman whom I have seen as my mother for many years refuses to answer me.

Mama Syria was a woman of short height, a mere 5'5 inches tall yet being in this wheelchair made me feel much smaller. I had less control, less access to the things I so much desired and here was ample example standing before me while trying to steer the situation otherwise.

Jaenelle and my children were somewhere in the world, living without any cares in the world and presumably, without any memory of the man deemed their father. I would've traded this life in, appeased Jaenelle and whisked her off to some island, but she saw it fit to ruin the plan by deceiving me.

Emotion lurks in the depths of my throat but I restrict it from displaying itself, "Mama?"

"Figlio, I would never hurt you," her cheeks steal a swift moment to flush "my grandchildren mean the world to me and they mean the world to you, who am I to push you down when you're already eating the scum of the world?"

Instead of the cessation of what is left of me, her speech reminded me of what I have to redeem. Every fibre in my being stood erect and I feel my chest swell with pride, the pride that will be palpable the day I stand on my own two feet and take a bold, strong leap forward.

Mama chucks the crocodile into the nearest cupboard with a low sigh, "What time is your flight?"

My gaze pierces her thin summer apparel and begins to carve a gaping hole into her back, "In the evening, I'm not really sure..."

"Keep glaring. My blunt butter knife will just keep penetrating your shoulder repeatedly in a few moments," my lips curl at her threat - she wouldn't do that, right?

Tucking my masculinity away, I feign a sickly sweet smile for her, "forgive me mama."

-

Being paraplegic had its up and downs, although downs seemed to be the case every single time. I gargle down pills every day, pills meant to tame the ache of the straining muscles in my legs yet the pain would hardly subsidise. Among physical pain came a lot of emotionally scarring. People would often steal glances of me in hopes that taking a quick look at my lame legs would prevent the same thing happening to them in future. Losing sensation in your legs didn't have a season or a vaccine, losing sensation in your legs is just life's method of teaching you a constructive lesson.

I have yet to know mine.

"First class we use a ramp, yes?" Marko suggests stridently, his voice overtaking the loud wails of the plane's turbines.

My crutches could only aid me for so long without having the ache to intercept, but landing in New York smoothly is all I could ponder over, even if it meant bruising my ego.

"We'll use the ramp."

Marko assists me up the room, easing me gently into the first half of the plane before parking me into a seat designed for my state. My jaw tightens, sculpts my grit while I attain a steady posture and loosens as soon as I collapse onto the pliable couch. Marko is a step ahead of me by detangling my ankles from their straps and placing them at a pencil's width apart from each other.