The evening sun cast long shadows on the ground, and the slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the sky.
Sage and Wade stood in front of the mansion, their hearts filled with hatred and bitterness. Their hearts begged them not to do this, but their minds started to differ.
"It will be alright," they both chanted to themselves, trying to calm down the strange sensations of anxiety and suffering they were experiencing.
As the raindrops fell steadily and softly from the dark and dull sky, their thoughts were widely intruded upon.
"Wade, what the fuck are you doing? Come inside," he screamed, looking at Sage, who was still lost in her own world.
"Uh, yeah," she meekly mumbled and went inside the mansion without glancing at him even once.
The mansion was beautiful, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows adorned with dramatic light brown silk curtains. The floors were made of dark hardwood, flawlessly decorated with Turkish rugs, and the walls had an off-white taupe color.
In the living room, a large coffee brown sofa complemented two matching leather club chairs, all angled next to a huge fireplace that was not yet lit due to the hot summer weather.
I see her going upstairs, probably thinking she's going to "her" room. Oh god, this will be so fun.
"What the fuck?" I hear her screaming. I laugh internally, enjoying the sight of her face when she runs down the stairs and stands in front of me.
"Why the fuck is there only one room, Wade?" she says quietly, still fuming with anger. I don't say anything because if I open my mouth, I'll end up laughing.
"Stop ignoring me, you bitch! Tell me why there's only one room!" she pulls me closer by my shirt collar, our breaths mingling and our noses almost touching. I could see her acne and dark circles underneath the simple makeup; that's how close we were.
I push her away slightly, making sure she doesn't fall because, yeah, I want her to suffer, but not like this. "We are married, Sage, and according to your father, married couples stay in the same room and sleep on one bed," I say, smirking slightly as I observe her confused yet angry face.
"As if I will ever sleep in the same bed with you. Give me the keys to the guest room," she opens her hand, demanding the keys from me. I'm very close to laughing at her, but I stop myself.
"That's up to your father," I say nonchalantly.
"Didn't he fucking leave for France for 3 months?" she almost yells. I step back, in case she decides to slap me or something. Like, bro, it's not my problem that your father wants us to "be in love" or something.
"Yes, he did," I say softly because, God, she's lowkey scary when she's angry.
"Okay, fine. I'll sleep on the couch then," she says, walking towards the room to get her pillows and blanket, I assume.
"There is no AC installed yet, and the living room is burning because of the summer heat and because they checked if the fireplace was working in the afternoon," I say, eyeing the fireplace because, again, I'm still scared she might come to slap me or something.
"What the fuck? Don't tell me you planned all this?" she says, her voice dripping with hatred. I can recognize it without even turning my head to her.
"Oh, please. Who do you think you are? It's not like I'm dying to sleep with you. I don't have a lack of women, or men in that case. You are nothing but a burden that is now with me for the next 3 fucking years. So it's better if you mind your own business and leave me alone," I spat venomously, almost catching the hurt on her face, which was replaced by nothing but hatred and anger.
"You know what? Just when I thought you were not like him, you proved me wrong immediately. I had 1 percent hope that you would respect me, not as your wife, but as a person. But well, okay, what can I expect? Like father, like son," she said, smirking slightly.
That was it. She hit that spot. She went somewhere she should have never gone.
I step forward and grab her harshly by her arm, making her fall onto my chest and wince in pain. If these were normal circumstances, I would have felt bad and apologized, but right now, I'm more than angry with her. How could she stoop this low?
"Listen here, you bitch. I don't think you can say anything about me or my father when your mom literally told me to kill you and fucked my uncle for about 3 years without you or your dad noticing. If someone should be told, it should be you. Like mother, like daughter," I said these words without realizing how mean they were. But who cares? She said them first, and being mature isn't really my thing.
She stares at my face for about a minute, probably trying to grasp whatever I said. As soon as she realizes, she pulls me closer, our breaths mingling again. Just when I thought she was about to kiss me, she does something unexpected.
She slaps me, hard.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
Don't kill him.
Don't kill yourself.
I hate myself so much. Why did I say that?
No, I hate him more. Why did he have to go that low? He could have acted mature, but I can't really blame him.
I hate myself.
I hate him.
Never mind, I love myself.
No, I love him.
Wait, what the fuck, Sage? Where did that even come from? I must be really tired to be thinking all this.
I come out of my thoughts when I see him walking towards the bedroom, hurt clear on his face and a red mark on his cheek that must be hurting because, yeah, I know I slap quite hard.
"Wait, Wade," I say, running to him and stopping him by holding his arm.
"What? You want to slap the other cheek, too?" he said, bending his other cheek towards me as if to offer it for a slap.
Shit.
"Let me put ice on your cheek, please," I say softly.
"Please, keep your fake kindness to yourself. You've already shown your true colors," he said as if he already knew this was going to happen.
I mean, it wasn't even his fault. I'm pretty sure my dad did all this. But I guess my anger and hatred got the best of me, and I stooped that low.
"Please, Wade. Just this once," I plead.
"Do whatever you want," he says, and a wide grin forms on my face without even realizing it.
He looks at me like he just saw a ghost, and then I realize that this is the first time I've actually smiled at him after 6 whole fucking years.
I think I see a small smile forming on his face, but I could be wrong. I just drag him and make him sit on the sofa and go get an ice pack from the freezer.
I cup one side of his cheek and put the ice pack on the cheek where I slapped him. It's very red. Fuck my life, why am I like this?
He does nothing but stare at me, and I avoid his eyes because, yeah, I'm scared as fuck now.
Just as I'm about to get up from the sofa, he pulls me by my arm, making me fall onto him.