Three Loving Words (6 page)

Enzo

When Paige wasn’t around, she got under my skin because I was wondering what in the hell she was up to.  When she was around, she got under my skin with her feisty attitude.  When she was next to me, she got under my skin with the way she flinched away from me.  It was unnerving; it made me feel like something that I knew I wasn’t.  I wasn’t a bad guy.  I had my way of living.  It made some people look at me differently, but that was my life and it didn’t make me a monster.  I did one thing I wasn’t proud of, one thing that I didn’t want to think about, but that didn’t make me evil.  And if you really wanted to point fingers, it would have never happened had she not agreed to this farce.

So yeah, she got under my skin and not necessarily in a good way.  But the worst time she got under my skin so deep was when she came home looking like a sexy secretary.  The only thing she was missing was a pair of dark framed glasses.  She didn’t show much skin, but that was probably the most alluring part; a present waiting to be opened, and by the way her clothes fit her, the present was going to be amazing.  Her hair was pinned back, and my fingers were itching to dig into the bun and pull her hair down before tugging it back, causing her head to tip back and giving me an open invitation to her neck.

The fact that my body wanted her hadn’t been anything new. She was beautiful, she was sexy, and she was technically mine.  My mind might have known the difference between friend and enemy, but my body didn’t discriminate.  What really got to me was the fact that she was singing, her voice a low husky tone that didn’t match the higher pitch of her speaking voice.  I was listening to her bedroom voice singing some stupid pop song.  The bright smile that played on her lips was enough to light up the room.  She was absolutely stunning.  And then she informed me that she was working.  What the fuck?

I wasn’t one for work in the first place. It wasn’t my thing.  Those people who wanted to, good for them, but it wasn’t for me.  But my wife, oh hell no, she wasn’t working.  I’d like to say it was all based on image, and a big chunk of it was.  I was the man, the head, the lead.  My wife was not going to outdo me.  Fuck that.  Yet a bigger part was because Paige was going out, looking the way she was looking, every day with other guys staring at her and thinking the thoughts I had just been thinking.  I didn’t like it.  And I hated that I didn’t like it.

I told her she wasn’t working, but she fought me on it.  Truth be told, I admired her determination; that spark to make something of herself without anyone backing her up.  There had been a time once, long ago, when I’d had that same spark.  And fuck if it wasn’t a turn-on to see that fire in her eyes as she stared me down, trying to hide her fear.  I almost wanted to keep at it just to see her eyes glow.  But it was for that same reason that I finally acquiesced.  I couldn’t be near her when she was like that, and if I kept arguing with her, she’d continue to smolder.  And I had to remind myself that what she did didn’t matter to me.  So I told her I was okay with her working, and I meant it.  Things continued much the same for the next couple of months.  She tried to stay out of my way as much as possible, and that was fine with me.  There were a couple of times where she did or said something that got to me and we argued, but that was pretty usual stuff, too.  She slept on the couch often.  I didn’t really understand why, but I always found her in the same position as the first time, snuggling close to the pillow, the blanket barely covering her arms.  It became sort of a routine for me to cover her.  I’d see her, cover her, and head to bed.  The nights I couldn’t sleep and didn’t see her started to feel odd.  She was ruining my bachelor life slowly, and that was just another reason to hate her.  I couldn’t keep track of all the reasons I hated her. Believe me, I had tried.  Each and every time I did that, Paige pissed me off even more, and she didn’t even have to be around.  I’d find a way to forget her easily, though, and it always involved a woman screaming my name. But never with that low, husky voice I had heard once from Paige.  And it bugged me that I remembered that.  It bugged me even more when I heard it again.

Paige

A few months after working, a co-worker in a different department asked me out on a date.  He was handsome and smart, and it wasn’t happening.  I was married ... loosely, but still married.  And even if I wasn’t and was free to date, if I were free to potentially find the man of my dreams, to marry him, and get that happily ever, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.  I was working full time, trying to avoid Enzo overtime, and figuring out school options as a second job.  But it made me feel good, special even.  I had never felt truly beautiful … ever.  Enzo was the first guy to look at me with lust, but that was Enzo.  That wasn’t really a compliment, and from the number of times I had been forced to sleep on the couch because I couldn’t listen to one more “Oh, Enzo,” I was pretty sure he’d have sex with just about anything female.  A tiny secret part of me was also slightly offended that Enzo would have sex with the entire female population, but other than our wedding night, he hadn’t tried anything with me.  Crazy, right?  I was scared of the man for the same reason I was offended.  Insecurity would do that to a person.

This guy asking me on a date had made my day.  I couldn’t help the silly grin I had plastered on my face all day.  I had to keep reminding myself that I was at work so I wouldn’t belt out some love song.  I was in such a good mood that when I cooked dinner for myself that night, I allowed myself to sing.  It was low just in case Enzo came home, but I sang anyway.  Big mistake.

Something about me being happy always rubbed him the wrong way.  I desperately tried to wear an emotionless face around the house at all times, never knowing when I’d run into him.  The times when a smile would surface for whatever reason always ended in an argument.  A week before, I had been thinking about the fact that I realized I started calling everyone “darlin’” at work thanks to my co-worker rubbing off on me.  I hadn’t realized it so much until my boss laughed at me and said, “Well, all right there. darlin’.”

“Oh, no!  Tami got to me,” I cried.

“Don’t worry, she gets to everyone eventually.  Even I had a phase,” he whispered low.  “Don’t tell anyone, though.”

I came home with a smile on my face and walked right into a hard chest.  Enzo was on his way out.  I jumped back quickly, but that seemed to piss him off more.

“What’s so fucking funny, Paige?” The tone of his voice betrayed his calm exterior.

“Nuh … nothing.”  I stuttered around him often.  When things got heated, my boldness came out, but it was always the beginning of a fight that had him leading and me following.  Suffice it to say, we said some nasty things back and forth, and he mumbled the phrase I had come to call the three loving words.  “I hate you,” used to have an effect on me, but the way Enzo spewed it like air now just made me sigh.

This time, though, when I heard, “What the fuck are you doing?” I knew something was different.  I couldn’t really pinpoint the difference between the tone he used then and all the other times, but something made me flinch in a way I hadn’t before.

“Cooking,” I responded, trying to keep my voice calm.

“What the hell are you cooking?”

“Chicken marsala with angel hair pasta,” I told him, not understanding why what I made mattered.

“You cook?” he asked, a touch of astonishment clouded his anger.

“Yes.”

“Why have I never seen you cook?”

“I don’t often cook since it’s just for me.”

“So why are you cooking today?”

“Just felt like it?” I answered more like a question than a response.

“And you felt like fucking singing, too?”

“I … uh … yeah?”  Again, it was more of a question. I didn’t understand his line of questioning or what in the heck I did to get him so upset.

“Why the hell haven’t you cooked for me?  I’m your husband. Don’t you think I deserve a nice, home-cooked meal?”

“I never thought of it.”  It was the truth.  I never even thought to cook for him, but now that he put the thought in my head, I didn’t think I ever really would have.  I didn’t like him; he didn’t like me. No, scratch that, he hated me. So why would I cook for him?

“You better have enough for the both of us now then, little girl.  And stop your fucking singing,” he demanded.  Well, geez … I knew I didn’t have the best voice, but really?

“I only bought enough ingredients to make myself dinner.”

“Well, then I suggest you go out and get more.”  His tone was mocking and I didn’t like it.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” I stated again.

“Are you really saying no to me?”

“Like that would stop you,” I hissed.  He reeled back as if I had slapped him for a moment then he was in my face.  It seemed like every time he got truly mad, his next step was to get as close to me as possible.  I was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate me.  It worked, but if I had pushed him to this, it usually meant I was at the point where I wasn’t backing down, either.

“Fine, then I’ll eat it and you can eat something else.”

“No way.”

“You don’t need pasta anyway.”

I gasped, using all my strength not the slap him.  How dare he?  I knew I wasn’t the best-looking person, but I wasn’t fat.  Yet … part of me cared that he said that; that he thought I should lay off the carbs.

“Neither do you,” I answered with the only thing my fuzzy mind could think of.  He laughed in my face.

“If you really thought that way, you would stop staring at me like I’m the answer to all your prayers.”

“You arrogant bastard!  You’re my worst nightmare.  I can’t live the life I always dreamed of because I’m stuck here with you.  And today … today, I finally had a good day in a long fucking time.” And here came the cursing … only with Enzo.  “But I should have known better than to dwell on it because the minute I’m around you, everything goes to shit.”

“Why the hell did you have a good day?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!  What matters is that no one can be happy around you.  You kill everyone’s spirit.  You kill my spirit.  I hate you, Enzo.  I fucking hate you!”

That hadn’t been the first time I felt that way, but it had been the first time I’d said the words to him.  He should have been used to them since he said them every other day, but he wasn’t.  The way his eyes blazed was a clear indication that I had pushed yet another button; one I didn’t think I’d ever pushed before.  Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling so bold.  In fact, I was petrified.  I had played with the bull thinking I wasn’t wearing red, but I had a feeling that this bull was about to see red no matter what.

“You fucking … you …” He pointed his finger at me and I shivered, visibly shying away from him. He narrowed his eyes, but the fire in them grew hotter.  “You ... your fucking fault … and you dare … you …” It was as if his thoughts were jumbled.  He stepped back, his body wound tight; I noticed his hands balled into fists.  I didn’t even have time to blink before he stepped back, his arm raised.  My body screamed to cover itself, to protect my head, my ribs, anything that he’d try to connect with.  The punch didn’t come, but the loud noise did. He had turned at the last possible second and slammed his fist into the wall by my head.  The force of it was enough to leave a dent in the drywall.  I jumped back and hugged myself, preparing for the next strike to land, maybe this time on me.  I knew I had closed my eyes because I never saw him walk away or heard his footsteps over the blood pounding in my head, but when I opened my eyes, I was alone.  I abandoned the chicken and made it to my room just in time for the tears to come.

*****

You know how time seemed to be really finicky when you really needed it to be constant?  I was not referring to the steady rhythm of the second hand or the clock that ran a little fast.  I was talking about how it seemed to stand still or crawl when you needed it to be the next day already, or when you looked up from your work and wondered, “Where did the time go?”  As I blubbered in my room, my entire body a nervous, frightened ball of frustration, time stood still.  I vaguely heard noises in the house, but I was too wrapped up in myself and the level of being scared from what I had just undergone to truly care about anything but my own self-pity.  I swore the night had come and passed as I pondered how I got myself into this mess, how right Nora was, how horrible my husband could be, and more importantly, how I managed to avoid the beating I was sure I was going to get from Enzo.

When I looked at the clock, only about two hours had passed.  It wasn’t even fully dark outside.  The way my mind had been processing everything, I would have bet my life I had been sitting in that position for days, not two hours.  The only reason I had even taken a break from my thoughts was because my stomach had so kindly reminded me that I hadn’t eaten after all.

I opened the door quietly and listened for sounds.  To an outsider, I probably looked like the girl in the opening scene of a horror movie – the one who got killed moments after you finished yelling, “Don’t open the door,” at the screen.  It should have been a premonition for me, but I didn’t listen to my overactive imagination.  When everything sounded quiet, I made my way to the kitchen but stopped short when I saw Enzo sitting at the table.  Should have listened to the moviegoers, I told myself.  He looked up, but the expression on his face was blank.  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, and I took a step back, preparing myself to hide, cower, run – anything to get away from Enzo.

As he watched me, I saw the emotions flicker in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Maybe I refused to see them for what they seemed.  He couldn’t have shown me pain and regret, I reasoned, unless it was because he married me, but I already knew that.  That steeled my spine just a fraction, but it was enough to visibly stand up straighter.  We continued to stare at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away and admit defeat in this little battle we were fighting.

He shifted his hand and I lost the staring contest as my eyes automatically moved to where his hand had been, and they zeroed in on what he was doing.  He was eating my food! The nerve of that guy.  Given I hadn’t finished cooking everything when he had taken my good moment from me, and now, it looked like a presentable meal – a partially eaten presentable meal.  I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to offer him a snide remark, but as my eyes roamed up to his hand, I bit my tongue.  His hand was swollen, a deep pink shade, and his knuckles were missing some skin.  From the looks of it, I was pretty sure he had hit his hand more than just the one time I heard.  It needed attention, that much I knew, and the way he was moving it a little awkwardly while trying to hold his fork was proof that it bothered him.  I should have felt satisfied that he was in pain; I should have felt happy that he had done that to himself. I should have whispered, “Serves him right,” but I didn’t do any of those things.  I was not even sure why.

I had lost my appetite at some point, most likely when I first spotted Enzo in the kitchen, but I didn’t want him to know I was leaving without fulfilling my purpose because he scared me away.  I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.  I could feel his eyes trained on the back of my head, and it was a bit unnerving, causing me to take extra time to grab a simple bottle of water.  I closed the fridge and was about to turn away, but at the last minute, I opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack.  He didn’t deserve my kindness, however little it was, but I was still me, and I couldn’t let his hand go without at least the minimum amount of care.  I walked past him and dropped the ice pack on the table beside his hand without saying a word.  I tried not to look at his face for his reaction; I tried not to even care, but I glanced quickly as I continued to walk away.  I read something that looked an awful lot like shock across his features.  I had made it to the end of the kitchen when he called out my name.

“Paige.” He spoke it a little loudly as if I had been farther away than I truly was.

I stopped without turning, not bothering with a response.

“There’s actually enough for two.”   His words were so sincere that it stopped the laugh that bubbled up inside me.  He was giving me an open invitation to share a meal, a meal I had technically prepared.  I knew there was enough for two when I had originally told him there wasn’t. I hadn’t wanted to share it with him, but something about the earnest look in his eyes and the way his words almost sounded pleading made me stop the snide remark that was on the tip of my tongue.

I found myself nodding before I grabbed myself a plate and sat next to Enzo.  With his battered hand, he put some food on my plate.  I lowered my head and smiled slightly to myself.  It had been the most endearing thing I had ever seen from Enzo.  That was how low my expectations were.

We ate in complete silence, the awkwardness between us so palpable, I was sure you could reach out and touch it.  Yet somehow, it felt like a step, but to where?  That was unknown.

Enzo finished his dinner before I did, but he sat for another minute staring at his empty plate.  I wondered what he was thinking as he did this, but I didn’t dare ask.  Finally, he seemed to snap out of his trance and got up with his plate and silverware.  I must say I was slightly amazed that he had the manners to put his plate in the sink, especially considering the lack of manners I’d observed in almost every other department.

He turned back to the table and my head slowly lifted so my eyes met his.  He waited until he was sure he had my attention before he spoke.