My Wife, My Man?

Chapter Nineteen

"One who loves the vase, loves also what is inside." An African Proverb

"Jack," a voice echoed into his ears like a whisper of the wind. However, the voice wasn't persistent, so after a second call, it stopped and hummed its way into the distance.

Jack stirred on the bed. It was hard waking up. Every time he did, his head would spin, and he would drop back on the bed. It had been like that for the past few moments. However, now that the bright rays of the sun shone through the opened curtains, he felt forced to wake up. Angrily, he groaned, rubbing his eyes before he opened them to the bright light of the new day. His head stung; enough to have him wondering how many glasses of wine he had the day before.

He wasn't in his hotel suite; he knew that as soon as he shook off the pain and fixed his gaze around the room. Amongst the few things he took details of, were the unreasonable number of pillows lying around him; the three bright red rose flower pots that were placed upon a wardrobe and the polished wooden floor. The surrounding that was presented to his eyes was different from what he was used to seeing: the neutral but vibrant colours, the smell of a foreign yet sweet aroma and a black blazer and skirt that carelessly lay on a chair at the far end of the room.

Swiftly, he sat up on the bed, panicking and staring at the skirt. "No, no, no, no," he repeated to himself.

It was Natalia's. He knew it was hers; she had worn it the day before. This must have been her room. Did they... He froze and cut off the uprising thought. He jumped off the bed and began to gather his clothing which was all over the ground. At his quick movement, a piercing pain shot up his brain. Trying to ignore the nauseous feeling it created in his body; he grabbed his shirt from the floor to cover his half-naked body. As he slipped it on, he lost balance and stumbled to the ground; however, he was quick to pick himself up to resume what he was doing.

"Good morning," he heard a greeting from the familiar voice.

"Natalia..." He looked toward the opening door and watched her walk in, barefooted, all smiles, and in a bright polka-dot sundress.

He felt her gaze on him as he continued to dress himself.

"Wait, where are you going?" she asked him but didn't wait for an answer before adding, "I thought you would be knocked out until... I don't know, forever."

Jack didn't converse with her. Instead, he buckled his loose belt and then stared at her for a brief second, fear roaming through his mind. He was quick to mask that fear by looking for his shoes. He struggled to find it. What had happened between them last night? He didn't know how to ask her. How did one even start asking someone such a question?

"Jack!" she called his name in a thunderous voice, making the tension that he already felt spread across the room. She looked at him dead in the eyes, appearing to be suddenly angry, and his movement stopped. "We didn't." Her voice was dead. Her eyes dropped to the cold wooden floor, then looked back at him.

Jack's legs weakened at the answer. Dropping to the floor, he closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. When he flashed them open, all he saw was the anger in her eyes as she played with the loose strings of her dress.

"We didn't," she repeated. "I slept on the couch, in the living room."

She looked down at her feet to inhale the air that she felt was lacking in her body. Slowly, she counted to ten in her head. Seeing him in such a pitiful state fueled her anger. She felt so furious with him and feared what would escape her mouth.

She watched him drop his head between his hands, before softly uttering, "Oh, thank—"

"Yes, thank goodness!" she interrupted him, anger flicking in her voice. "Because what you did yesterday was nothing but nonsense! You acted foolishly!" She threw her hands in the air.