Birth From The Waist

Chapter 44

I wake up apprehensive to what had happened. A quick snooze to solve my predicament was the not that answer, it only delayed the inevitable, Alex thought I was a mad woman, the way I accused him, violated his space and attacked him so ferociously that even the neighbourhood's bitches could pick up a few pointers.

I was disgusted, disgusted at myself, disgusted at Alex, disgusted with the world. I pondered on how cruel the world was, always assuming there was a balance to the malevolence in this world, a counteraction by nature, but in my case, it was scarce.

There's one thing I was certain of, Alex was cheating on me, I could see it in his eyes, they way they glistened as I threw accusations at him, his body language gave away his indecencies and I for one was not going to be stomped on, my dignity and pride above all.

Sherlock, Sherlock was a bastard, throwing away these little secrets, then to withdraw them immediately, toying with me, a hungry cat playing with its living mouse, me, play with me till it was bored, and then go for the kill. What was Sherlock up to? I needed to get to the bottom of it. 

Was Sherlock acting under pretence? His pretentious was the tectonic plate movement under my soon to erupt volcano, one slight movement and I would boil up, erupt and destroy everything in my path, not that I wasn't doing so now.

Was Alex cheating on me? That's what I needed to piece together, the missing cash, the photo whore, the lingerie, the ongoing trip, the trip he had to visit the photo whore, and the baby clothing. The baby clothing is what tugged onto my soul, ripping it out of place, it was the thick solid wall that didn't permit me to crack, to become undone.

I am distracted by a knock on my bedroom door, there stood my husband, my arch enemy, my love, his chiselled face showed distress, perhaps concerned about my previous episode of accusations. Not accusations, truth.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

I gazed into his soul, he was like a pacemaker, no matter what was wrong with me, he kept my heart beating, the blood flowing.

"Sure, it's your room too."

He approaches the bed, his head was slightly lowered, ashamed of something he did, almost as if he did commit the crime I accused him of, aha! I've got him right where I want him.

He approaches the bed, it dips, his huge frame was an added extra  of his brutality, his rough exterior was quite ironic compared to his warm heart and childlike interior. I gulp, his masculine scent filled my nose, his scent, Giorgio Armani had to be put out of business, this smell made any girl's thick legs turn into spaghetti.

Alex was hesitant, he was most likely forced by his conscience to come in, to explain, but something told me it was the quite opposite.

"Look babe, I know you're angry, but these accusations you're throwing at me, they hurt, it's cruel on your end!"

I kept quiet, if I was to jabber  on he'd most likely ask for my source, and I couldn't reveal my source, unless, he was who I thought he was...

"You're distant now baby, when was the last time we were intimate? We live about so quietly, we rarely talk, and when I do, it's awkward between us, almost as if we're not a couple, we don't share a child together, and it's like we've never dipped into each other's soul.

I've seen you naked, bare, everything, I know you inside out, no one does like me, and that's why I say your mine," he says dominantly, the husband role was resurrected.

I couldn't help but feel a slight burn between my legs, an agonising but pleasuring sensation and my inner thighs pulsated, a desperate plea for release and pleasure, something that only the work of art in front of me could aid me with.