My Wife, My Man?

Chapter Three

"Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave himself for her." Ephesians 5:25

Accompanying the bang was a little click, an indication she was quick to lock the door after his departure. Jack felt his heart echo an odd, yet familiar beat of frustration. Every breath he took served as a reminder of his anger and his inability to control himself.

He shouldn't have touched her. He knew better. A real man never laid his hands on a woman, but he had lost control and patience; unable to take her tantrums anymore. Clutching his fingers into a tight fist, he slammed the wall. His blood boiled like a volcano ready to spit out larva and like always, he knew it would take a while before his anger subsided. Sighing, he leaned against her door, then slid down until he sat on the cold tiles. He heard the sounds of her cry: little sobs accompanied by short exhales. He slumped and covered his face with his hands. How could he claim to love when he couldn't even control his anger?

One thing felt certain: he had ruined the already crumbling so-called marriage. He failed to comprehend the exact emotions that swirled within him; the tension throughout his body had surely diminished and his jaw had long relaxed from its tight clench. Surrounded by the silence of the big house, the echoes of Perli's irregular breathing and his quiet breathing became the only melody of life. He knew she too leaned against the door.

"What did you do?" he questioned himself, giving his fingers the feel of his blazing face. He shut his eyes and allowed his mind to process his next move. Nothing! There was nothing he could ever do that would erase what had just occurred.

How could he be such a beast? He saw the fear in her eyes when she looked at him. That fear looked familiar; it was the same fear he always saw in his... He refused to think about it.

"Per—" He felt hesitant. "Jaki?" he almost whispered her middle name, fearful to utter the name of the woman he had just hurt.

He received no reply. However, that didn't discourage him from speaking. "Perli, I'm so—" the last word choked in his throat.

He always suffered from saying the word 'sorry'. For the past years, he had learnt to never apologize to anyone for anything he did. Arrogant? Most people considered him as such; however, he withheld no care for what people thought of him.

He stroked the nape of his neck. Sorry wouldn't change what had just happened but it was a start. It was going to be hard. Swallowing his pride, he calmed his heart with a slow exhale. "I'm..." He still hesitated. "I'm- so—" The word struggled to exit his mouth like a forced vomit. He shut his eyes, giving himself the courage to say the word. "I'm sorry Perli. I'm so sorry."

Perli gave no verbal response. He only began to pick up weird sounds. He could hear her scrambling as if she was in a desperate search for something. With that came echoes of frighteningly short breaths and abnormal coughs. Fear filled his heart. He pressed his ears against her door in an attempt to make sense of what he was hearing.

"Perli?!" He stood up, accompanying his call with a persistent knocking. "Are you okay?" Worry flooded his voice. He heard her wheezing and each breath she took sounded as if it was going to be her last.

"Perli!" He got desperate, banging the door with his open palm. Every new bang made his palm redder than the last, but he didn't care because his mind could only make him think of the worst. A glass broke from somewhere inside the room, he heard it shatter and just like it, his heart, too, shuttered. Every second that flew by in his inability to open the door made his heart race and his breaths, desperate.