A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 36 | excruciating moody swings

"We are going where there is money, fame, and a bunch of socialites, " he said after a while, then scrunched his knee to the rug, and laced up his shiny black polished leather shoes.

"Wear something of class. I will pick you up at quarter past. . ." he stole a glance at his wristwatch and stood on his feet, "four."

Then, he fixed a blue bowtie around his neck and snatched a blue jacket from a hanger.

Halting at the door, he twirled on his heels. "Be on time, " he cocked a brow at me and straighten his blue pants while walking out of me.

He had given me just fifteen minutes to get dressed.

How was it possible?

Dwain's footsteps echoed at the door after five in the evening and I stood on my silver heels, flipping my voluminous hair to my back, exposing the little diamonds he'd gifted me the night of the family brunch.

Down to my back, my gown was open, also, my shoulders were exposed, and the border of the thin lace fabric fitted a little above my cleavage.

I'd picked a cream-white mermaid gown that hugged my knees together.

With a throat noise, he made his entry. "Let's go."

With him at the wheel and I by his side, we rode in his newest Mercedes Benz as a pin-dropping silence hunched in between us.

Why did he show up late?

Didn't he say he will show up at quarter past four?

I rolled my eyes to the dark windows of the car and watched things pass by in a blur, getting lost in my thoughts.

The weekend saga had brought a cell of solitude, a frustrating silence amongst us ever since we last spoke as civil humans.

We lived as strangers who crossed each other's path in solitude, staring in opposite directions, being scared that; one of us might trample on the other's ego.

This situation was a burden.

I woke up every morning to guilt suffocating me in the early hours of the morning since Dwain made it a habit to isolate and abandon me.

Being abandoned to one's self wasn't a situation that I could overcome every day, especially when it felt like a stick was stocked at my throat, threatening to last forever.

Dwain had begun acting like my parents, drilling more holes in my heart and my self-esteem.

Although wet pillows, hunted nights, crazy mood swings plus horrible mental cramps took over my days, I craved for a sea of joy to swallow me, and take me out of such struggle; a struggle which had nothing to do with me but all to do with Elizabeth, the person who looked like me, and who also put me in this situation.

I couldn't blame everything on her anymore, because this situation was partly my fault.

"YOU CAN TAKE YOUR arrogance and your pride in there, 'cause I won't move a muscle unless. . ."

I held a finger at him and sucked in my breath. "Listen to me. . . unless you tell me exactly what's going on and why the heck are we on the other side of a castle in the middle of the evening, waiting for its gates to open?!"

I crossed my arms at my chest and moved my eyes from him.

Did he for a second think of me as some dog that he could drag around with no concrete reason, stupidly obeying him when he couldn't even address me properly?

"C'mon, hold your peace, and let me get some business done." He pressed hard on a few nerves which popped on his forehead. "You like it when I'm mad at you, huh? Now shut that mouth up and let's get inside. . . It's just business."