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by Taree
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Adult · #1979801
Something about love, perhaps...?
Oh, My..Lord…

She’s at it again. She keeps yelling and nagging at me about how I never pay attention to things like putting my laundries in the laundry box, or cleaning our dog’s poops in the garden. She nags right when I come into the living room where she can see me from the kitchen right away. I ignore her complains and loosening my tie as I throw myself on the comfy looking couch and turn on the TV. I wish she understands how tired I am listening to people complaining at the office, and now, she makes the house having exactly the same feeling as my office.

I can’t stand her. I decided.
I turn the TV off and walk to the front door.
I grab my coat and walk out the door without even looking back.
I lean my back against the closed cold wooden door and lit my cigarette.
And, heave a sigh.
It’s not that I don’t love her, it’s just that…I don’t know what to do anymore when it comes to her.
Every time she goes on rampage and rants on and on about how different I am now that we’re married, I always go out and take a little walk. As I step further away, until I can’t hear her anymore, I question myself.
I wonder if I still love her as much as I did when I decided to steal her heart.
I wonder if she still loves me the way she did when she enthusiastically jumped into my arms the moment I asked her to be my wife.
I wonder why things are changing along the way.

Am I regretting what I chose myself?
I look up to the night sky, remembering those days when the start of our marriage life was filled with fiery love and countless of plans for our family.
I almost…almost let the regret I feel for marrying her slides into my rage filled heart and mind.
I remember something as I stare at the snow covered asphalt.

The thought of leaving her by herself at home for almost the whole day every 5 days in a week, how I never really give a minute to see or ask if she needs my help during those weekends, and how I always sleep with my back facing her instead of embracing her in my arms, making me quickened my pace.

When I reach the porch, I stop myself from inserting my key into the keyhole.
Instead, I walk silently to the huge window on the side of the house where I can see her sitting on the dining chair. She’s waiting for me to return and have our dinner together. I think..I mean, I was thinking that she would have the dinner first, but I came to remember that she had never done it. She also doesn’t sleep before me, which means, whenever I come home, I will always hear her saying “Welcome home” the moment I see her. Everytime she nags or complains while cleaning here and there, I thought that she’s more than strong, but what I’m seeing now is far from what I always think about her.

She sits in silence and her head down, staring at the table.
She looks as tired as me. Her figure suddenly looks worn out and fragile.
She needs me. My help and support.
Like when I told her we’re going to walk together down the path we have chosen.
Like when she cried in my chest, and told me a thousand “I’m sorry” for losing our first child.
Like those days when she smiled at me and send me off to work, but then she had to be all alone at home.
She’s tired. Exhausted.
And I remember how she never asks me to help her in the kitchen, or to simply do the laundry. I always think that I am the only one with burdens and responsibility, but she’s no different.

It’s a family.
We’re supposed to share both of our happiness and sorrows.
I feel guilt creeping into me, and makes me feeling hideous for ignoring her and only think that only me who’s tired and worn out.
I walk back to the front door and come inside.
She probably heard me, since she’s already standing by the entrance to the living room, giving me another “Welcome home”.
I don’t even bother to take off my coat and walk fast towards her.
I hug her, tightly, as I bury my head in between her neck and shoulder.
I can feel my eyes become warm and tears almost flow down my cold cheeks.
She doesn’t move at all, seems like she’s confused why I suddenly act like this.
I mutter “I’m sorry” nonstop, until I feel her hands hugging me back and she kisses my hair.
I can feel her smile and tears.

“Thank you and I’m sorry too,” she says and I look at her beautiful hazel eyes.
I kiss her forehead, and put mine against hers before kissing her smiling lips.
I hug her again and give her my “Thank you”.

We spend the night in each others arms, like in the days when we only started our life together.
And in the morning, I wake her up with a cup of warm chamomile tea along with a breakfast served with love.

And, if she nags or angry at me, I just have to remember my reasons for choosing her.
How I love her and how much I want her to stay with me until the very last breath of mine.
I guess, a little help here and there, with an act of understanding won’t kill me..

I love her. Indeed.
Her and every part of her.
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